Free
by silmelinde
Summary: James is ready to enter a sailing career when the first stirrings of love reach him. Love is found and lost for years until the day James survives the wound obtained on the Flying Dutchman. But, his life is still in danger as he is cast at the mercy of the sea.
1. Free

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC.

I've decided to merge five fics, which are parts of the same arc, into one for convenience. They are Free, Gone, Lost, Resigned and Reborn. Since Reborn was the longest part, I will be merging the rest into it.

I value your reviews and it's unfair to delete them with the separate parts since people have taken care to write to me. I will copy and post each review at the end of the chapters they were written for.

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><p><strong>Part I<strong>

**FREE**

**Bristol. Year 1727**

Lazily, James Norrington observed specks of chalk float in the stream of sunlight, which snuck past tightly closed classroom curtain. James shifted his feet carefully to avoid bumping his knee on a student table fifteen year old had long outgrown. He was waiting for the teacher to hand out their final test results, so the last class of the day would come to an end. More so, it was this day and the one after tomorrow to live through before the students had their school break. James' studies were coming to an end. He anticipated the day of his release, eager to apply his hard earned knowledge in practice. The classroom walls were bearing down on him. He frequently stole glances at the few windows that held freedom and promise behind them.

It's not that he was a poor student; there were subjects he liked, but a few he didn't. His grades were solid, closer to the top of the student list as to avoid disappointing his father. James did what was required of him to meet family expectations, but without any studious fervour. He simply wasn't the type to take pleasure in lengthily stationary activities. He left that to his friend Philip Price.

The boy to his right had a talent for sitting still and mulling over the most difficult problems until he had solved them. He had a lot of patience, flexible mind and a hard work ethic. Philip considered himself and probably was the best student in school.

The teacher went across the room, moving his legs importantly like a lanky stork, as he handed back the papers, making the out loud remarks about them.

"Steady as you were, Mr Norrington," he commented ironically, dropping the test onto his desk.

He went around, returning a few more tests, until he had only two left in his hand. Philip had yet to receive his.

"Today," said the teacher significantly as the class went silent and James suppressed a yawn, "before all of you leave and in the last attempt to imbue a bit of wisdom into you, I must comment on the outstanding work written by one of your fellow students who shows great promise and a mind ready for the grown up world."

Philip squared his narrow shoulders and barrelled out his chest, prepared for praise. It was his grand moment. The teacher stalked past him, casually dropping his test onto his desk and headed to the other end of the classroom.

"Mr Alexander Ash, your essay is truly inspiring." The teacher spared a brief smile of appraisal to his student with his back turned to Philip who turned the colour of his parchment.

James suppressed a smirk and hid behind his returned test paper. It was a solid grade without any ambitions for the better, as expected. His eyes tried to slide close in boredom, and he poked himself with a quill to stay awake as the teacher went on praising Alexander. Beside him, Philip was glaring at his paper that received a perfect grade, but was not praised as inspirational. James ignored all words except most important ones he was waiting to hear.

"Class dismissed."

James disentangled his limbs from the seat, nearly bouncing in anticipation to go. Philip, however, was taking his slow time gathering his belonging and methodically placing them in the bag. He looked at the teacher, considering to approach him much to James' dread, but Alexander came up to the teacher first. Philip, not wanting to be second there too, with a scoff grabbed his bag and went to the door.

As they came outside, Philip was brooding. Hard lines were edged into his face.

"Don't worry about placing second on the test or rather your scores were equal, so it's not even second," James assured him. "It's a good result."

But, it wasn't the glorious result that could be bragged about. Being ignored made him second and deprived Philip of the acknowledgement of his talent.

"I wanted to tell my family that I scored the highest. I put all my effort into writing, hardly slept at night and the teacher ignored me. He remarked on everyone's work, even saying something to you, but not to me."

"Let's not underestimate my intellectual abilities," said James.

"I'm not," Philip muttered. "I'm underestimating your work ethic. You hardly study, and yet your results are high, although not the highest."

"I don't study a lot compared to you, but I do study no less than any other person, especially when it comes to some of the subjects that I have to suffer where my brain keep forcing out the information I had barely stored in it."

"You'd have much better results had you put more effort into it," said Philip, wondering if James could have done a better job than he had.

"All my efforts go into not falling asleep," James parried. "My father will be pleased with you too, even more so than he will be with me."

"Your father is a wise man," Philip replied seriously as his shoulders went stiff defensively. "He is a man of strong principles. He has a lot to teach. I benefit greatly from his company."

For whatever reason he didn't seem fully sincere, but James assigned that to the unease Philip must have felt that Lawrence favoured him more than his son. The relationship with his father was never easy for James, meanwhile Philip who appeared at his home two years ago was always there to flatter Lawrence and ask him right questions. James supposed he couldn't begrudge him that, wanting to make up for a lack of father he didn't have. Philip's father died about at the same time as James lost his mother. Their parents built a friendship and perhaps something more was growing between them. That's how the boys were acquainted, through their parent's meetings. James didn't think he'd be Philip's friend otherwise. "I daresay, your mother benefits from his company too," he noted to distract Philip from brooding.

"They should get married already."

"I think my father holds your mother in high esteem. I have heard, however, him mumbling something about old age."

"Nonsense," said Philip. "He is only fourty nine. My mother is several years younger. It would be a smart match and a good business."

James winced inwardly. He didn't want Philip for a relative, although he realised that he couldn't have expected his father to stay a widower all his life.

Loud voices interrupted their banter. They came to a halt in front of a brawl. Two boys from their class were 'giving a piece of their mind' to a third one on the ground, suffering their punches and waiting for them to go away. James recognised the boy on the ground as the merchant's son. He was on the lowest step of the social ladder in their class. His father badly wanted to educate his son to put him in commanding ranks of the Navy, doing his best to provide for it. However, his son lacked studiousness and often got into fights with the classmates, ending up worse for wear because he had to hold back.

Philip's eyes grew cold and guarded. "Hey, mates, leave the boy be," he called out into the middle of the fight. The duo stopped punching and gaped, wondering who was giving them orders. They sized Philip and then saw James towering beside him. The duo reluctantly stepped away.

"He owes us some money he borrowed," they countered.

"Beating the stuffing out of him is hardly going to get it back," Philip told them. He reached into his bag and looked through it. "How much does he owe you?"

The boys looked at him in uncertainty. "You're going to pay for him?"

Philip shrugged.

"A sixpence, then."

"I don't have that much, but I have a shilling. You don't need to give me change, call it a compensation for interfering with your fighting." Philip tossed a shilling at them. One of the boys caught it nimbly and they went away.

The merchant's son got out of the dust, bewildered why he earned such a rich bounty and what he had to pay for it.

"You're Braden, aren't you?" said Philip. He evaluated the boy's muscular arms, broad chest and large fists closely. "Why were you letting them beat you? You're two heads taller and stronger."

The boy eyed him wearily. "I'd get into trouble with adults if I fight back," he offered darkly. "I don't want to get kicked out of school for fighting."

"Ah, but you can still fight, you know, as long as someone reliable can vouch that they were douche bags to you and it was in self-defence. Someone like me. You see."

At that moment Alexander came out of the school door and headed towards the gate where they stood. Philip threw a long side-glance at him, but kept his focus on Braden. "I've seen them taunt you before and foul-mouth your hard-working father. They're full of themselves, like Alex, for instance. He was calling us all dullards and said that you shouldn't be in the class for being a hopeless idiot and a waste of your father's efforts. Who would blame you if you wanted to teach him a lesson? Trip him as he goes by."

Alexander was coming closer. Braden eyed him, clearly tempted, but afraid of the consequences. James put his hands into his pockets, unsure whether he should interfere. It wasn't uncommon for boys to fight to settle the inner dynamics and hierarchy where stepping in for another was not encouraged. James didn't like this change of attitude. Philip had a spiteful side to him that at times came out. James wasn't a fool. He knew that Philip simply interfered, not to help Braden, but to settle his score with Alex who bested him at the essay.

"James and I will vouch for you," Philip assured.

"No. I won't," said James. "Don't drag me into this. In fact, I never heard such remarks from Alex. These are your words only."

"We will be nearby," said Philip. He grabbed hold of James and pulled him away from Braden as not to be seen together. "Do it," he hissed.

Alexander was close, balancing a huge bag that was clearly too heavy with all the books in his arms. As he went past, Braden thrust his foot forward reluctantly. Alex barely missed it. He stumbled, close to a fall.

"What do you think you're doing, you oaf?" he inquired angrily. "Has your mind completely deteriorated that you trip people for no reason?"

It was a wrong thing to say. It reminded Braden of so many taunts about his low intelligence that he suffered before. "I have a reason right here," he shouted. Viciously, he buried his knee in the Alex's stomach. The boy doubled over, gasping in pain.

"I'll tell on you!" he ground out.

"Tell what, that you called me names and I've defended myself?" Braden shouted, throwing a punch that sent smaller boy sprawling into dust. There was blood on his fist.

"Call him off," said James coldly.

Philip shook his head. Braden pulled Alex up by the collar and aimed to punch him again. His swing was stopped half-way, caught in a grasp. Still holding Alex, Braden turned his head. Hard, green eyes met his unfocused gaze.

"I think you got him good enough," James told him. He was glaring up at Braden. This was the only boy in their class who towered above him. Braden hesitated, torn between fear and his newly found freedom to hit people. He wondered how far he could extend his new power. Ash, however, was a much easier opponent than Norrington. As if reading his thoughts, James' grip became painful on his wrist. "Stand down," he ordered. Authority rang like steel in his voice.

Braden shot him a mutinous look and then his muscles relaxed. He stepped back. Alex slipped out of his grasp, hurriedly picking up his books. He ran without looking back.

"You're no fun," said Philip. "You should have let Braden be. After all, he had been irked and made fun of ever since the first grade. That's a lot of time to hold a pent up frustration. He is an all right lad, I can tell. Hey, Braden, you will come over to my house tomorrow, won't you? We should talk."

"If my pops doesn't keep me working," said Braden, clearly tempted.

"I have to go," James said irritably. He didn't like Braden and didn't want him coming over to visit Philip because it ultimately meant his appearance at his father's home too. He set off away from them.

"Come when you can," Philip quickly repeated his offer and then sat off after James.

They walked side by side with heavy tension between them.

"I simply hate to lose," said Philip at last half apologetically, half defensively. "We live in a hard world where unless you fight to the top, you will get used and beaten. Of the two alternatives, to be doing the beatings or to be beaten, I choose the first."

James stopped abruptly. His lips were set in a firm line, his fists clenched. He was about to tell Philip what he thought about such a world view when a clear, feminine voice called out to him.

"James, wait for me please!"

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><p>PaxtonSky chapter 1 . Jun 29, 2011<p>

Sounds good so far, I look forward to seeing more!

Norrieo chapter 1 . Sep 5, 2011

FINALLY! Someone realizes that Gillette's name is Phillip, not Andrew! WE true afficianados deserve a piece of imaginary celebratory cake!


	2. Free2

James and Philip turned to the sound of the voice. Their school had a separate wing where girls were taking music classes. There was a girl rushing towards them from that direction. She was stuffing a flute into her handbag as she ran. Her long dress commanded formality, but she moved about with a lot of fluency regardless, losing an edge of her usual stride in favour of primmer posture.

James smiled, his anger instantly forgotten.

"Who is this?" Philip squinted nearsightedly, trying to make out a beautiful vision.

"Don't be silly. That's Constance," said James. His smile got brighter as the girl approached. "It seems that her mother finally managed to tame her into wearing feminine attire."

Constance looked different today. Her mother had convinced her to wear a dress and a corset that fitted her statuette figure perfectly. Hazel eyes radiated life and energy. Her face was fresh. The dress hugged her narrow waist and accented her newly forming breasts. Small feet and ankles were visible as she ran, holding up her skirt. Normally, she wore loose outfits that made her look like a scrawny, little girl who was not immune to fights and finding trouble and dust. The dress revealed that she matured and showed signs of growing into a beautiful woman. Her hair was twisted upwards, opening long vulnerable neck, yet one curl rebelliously slid out of the bunch, hunging provocatively across her cheek.

"Hello," she called out.

The boys greeted her. Far unlike his previous behaviour where he was dismissing this girl with a half-shrug and a mild greeting reserved for acquaintances, Philip kissed her hand and tried to tuck it into the crook of his arm. Constance slipped past his fingers and danced over to James' side to kiss his cheek.

"Not planning to let a lady walk home all by herself, are you?" she asked playfully.

"I'm sorry, we thought you'd want to go home with your classmates like you did yesterday. Thus, we didn't wait for you," said James.

"I only went with them yesterday because my mother told me to, but I want to spend more time with you, considering that you are leaving."

"In three days," James agreed, failing to hide his excitement. He would miss his friends, but the sea was calling and even singing to him in sleep. "At last, I am old enough to join a ship as a crew member."

"Congratulations," said Constance, although not without a sad note creeping into her voice. "That's nice."

"You too look nice, Constance," Philip cut in, mildly irritated that she ignored him. "It's about time you've quitted sea urchin quirks and donned on lady-like attire."

Constance's eyes blazed. "Sea-urchins are beautiful," she said heatedly.

"Peace now," James interfered. He ran an appraising eye over Constance head to toe. "What my friend here has so inelegantly stated, is that you are becoming a fine woman. No amount of wilderness and dust on you can hide it any longer. Philip merely seeks a frame that would be more befitting of a lovely lady. I concur. You look beautiful in this dress."

He was sincere. Constance, for the first time, was experiencing the gazes of two boys that were burning her skin. Something changed in the way they looked at her. Intercepting James' appreciative look, she felt all the fight go out of her. Her tight dress suddenly felt like a feather. Whoever cared that it was uncomfortable. She'd wear any dress as long as it caused James to look at her this way.

"Let's take a detour to the sea," James suggested. Without confirmation he headed for a narrow path that ran off the road towards a rocky shore. Philip picked up Constance's arm as they followed.

"Why would you want to go there?" said Philip. "In a few days you will have more than enough of the sea. You may even grow homesick and regret your wish to sail away."

"Homesick, maybe; sick of the sea, unlikely. Haven't you ever wanted to explore the world?"

"It's not that glorious," Philip muttered. "It will always be the same routine for the sailors who usually get stuck in some part of the ocean guarding it from pirates and patrolling in circles across the same waters."

He did in fact want to go, but his stomach did not always settle well with the sea. It was no worse than that of an average person, but not enough to get him into a sailing career. It was another thing that Philip secretly begrudged.

"I think there is more to the sea than that," Constance interfered. "There has to be with so many wonderful legends about it."

"Foolhardy, as much as designed to instil ridiculous romantic notions into the sanest people to send them galloping after some immaterial ideal instead of dedicating their life to settling down and making a handy fortune," Philip reasoned.

"I think they're true and the adventures can bring happiness," Constance insisted. "Mr Kerry knows what he's talking about."

"You mean that insane old man who sells stories by the docks for pennies?" Philip wrinkled his nose in disdain. Mr Kerry was no authority. He wasn't sure how anyone of good station could bear to go near such a low-fortune individual, unless they wanted to ruin their reputation.

"He isn't insane. I love listening to his stories. Just yesterday he talked about a sea goddess and a sea captain who fell in love with her. She charged him with a duty to carry souls across the sea for ten years. As a reward she would wait for him ashore."

"Sounds like a gimped deal I wouldn't have taken. I bet he had been betrayed. You don't even know how much your partner will change. Why bar yourself from the pleasure of living with a different partner just to find a stranger at your door one day? No one would wait ten years for their lover."

"I would!" Constance insisted stubbornly. In truth, she was overwhelmed by Philip's eloquence, but her intuition was suggesting that she too was right, even if she couldn't state her point of view as convincingly. "My heart will recognise him, even if the years will alter him."

Philip was quite ruffled that she didn't accept his persuasion. He decided that he was arguing with a female, after all, who viewed everything from an emotional perspective. He couldn't expect her to fully appreciate his refined logic. "Good God, what goes on in the mind of yours?" he told her, taking some heat out of his voice. He slid the composed mask back in place, regretful that he was unable to impress her. "You've hardly lived that long. You are only thirteen. Now, picture your entire life and then picture waiting that long. Can you wait?"

"Oh, I'll find something to occupy myself with," Constance shook off his concern lightly.

James chuckled. He may have looked like he was walking carefree ahead, but he was listening closely to their conversation.

The narrow path led them to the cliffs that lay over the sea.

"Race you to the top," James told his companions. Without confirmation, he sprinted up the rocks as Constance stood gaping at him.

Philip huffed, well aware that he could never beat the challenge. "Childish," he called out. "We, grown up and dignified people, will go at our own pace, that won't break our necks." He climbed slowly on top of the first rock and ceremoniously offered his hand to Constance. The girl, however, laughed and jumping in one fluid motion on top of the rock, went chasing after James. She was fast and nimble. She caught up on top of the cliff with one more step separating them.

James observed her progress from the top. When she came near he offered his hand to pull her up. Constance accepted the offer gladly. He lifted her upwards, his other arm momentarily went around her waist to steady her.

She thought it was a shame that she couldn't lean against his chest and stand with his strong arms wrapped around her to watch the sea. Constance waltzed to edge to peek over. Amber water was slowly leaping the rocks far below. She looked back at James.

"What now?" she asked.

He smiled. "Now, we observe the sea." His hand swept across the horizon line and stopped at the entrance of a bay where on anchor stood a magnificent ship. She was too far to see the name, but Constance recognised her. This was _Guardian Lawrence_, a ship and property of the Norrington family, one of the best in the British waters. The ship swayed proudly on gentle waves with sails and flag currently down. The ship had two decks loaded with guns, three masts and a shape narrower than ships of the line that gave her more speed. After sustaining heavy damage in battle and miraculously returning to port, _Guardian Lawrence_ had a brand new overhaul. She was slim, polished and ready to return to the sea. This was the first ship James would serve on under command of his father, Admiral Norrington. This was the ship to take James away from home, thought Constance. Her feelings were in disarray, slight resentment intertwined with appraisal. She too understood the sea, living on shore from the first day of her life. She too sometimes heard its call, although she knew that women were not as welcome to travel to the horizon. It was their lot to wait on land for their men to return.

She looked back at James who stood on the edge of the cliff unmoving. The sun caressed his face, setting his skin with a golden hue. His brown hair was tied back in a pony tail as the wind tugged gently the ends of the ribbon that held it together. He may have been with her in person, but his heart was far away between the sea and the sky. His nostrils trembled, taking in the salty air. His eyes scrutinised the waves with great passion. Constance wondered what it would be like to be an object of such intense scrutiny. It seemed like his soul, trapped in confines of this stoic young man, longed to break away from the land and merge with the power the world radiated.

She knew at that moment no one could hold him. He was young, full of promise and it was best to set him free. It mattered not. The albatrosses too flew far off shore above the waves, eventually coming back to land. He too would come back. She had the patience to wait. He would change from a boy to a man. She fancied he'd grow even taller, his still slim shoulders would fill out. His face would grow harder and more pronounced once it lost boyish charm. James was a serious man. He still had bouts of childishness, but playfulness was not a part of his nature. This was going to reflect in his posture. However, he still would be her James.

She was too young to know that she had to be more careful and hide her feelings. Her eyes openly, bordering daring, admired his form, taking in every line and every small movement. Her feelings were all too obvious to the boy who stood only a few feet away watching her watch James with the strong pangs of jealousy upending his soul. Philip's dark eyes were hard and brooding.

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><p>Suni-Dlight chapter 2 . Nov 14, 2011<p>

Very unique :D Can't wait to read the next part.

Norrieo chapter 2 . Nov 30, 2011

Hey please update soon! LUV your story!


	3. Gone

**Part II**

**GONE**

**Bristol. Year 1732 **

A large ship came into the bay, maneuvering leisurely with the rights of a long awaited owner returning to a welcome home. Constance watched her progress intently, nearly dancing on the tiptoes. Small breeze picked up her hair and swirled it about like halo. Lovely, eighteen year old woman drew appreciative glances from the passersby who smiled benevolently, some of them having seen her here before. Aware of nothing else, she held a small telescope up, discerning the people on board of the approaching ship. James was coming home from a three-month long mission. This was not the first time she came to these docks winter or summer to greet the returning ships. Five years flew by unnoticed. Few months here and few months there, James was either sailing away or staying on land to continue his education. She cherished the time when he was on land and missed him when he was at sea.

Beside her, Philip stood sullenly, throwing unfriendly glances around with a clear protest to having been dragged to the docks too early for the ship's homecoming. Although, to his charging, he had not been dragged; he felt obligated to follow Constance who never asked for an escort. She flew around with a grace and thoughtlessness of a butterfly, given to the winds and fantasies. What she needed was a marriage to pragmatic, reliable man who would put some sense into her. Philip's mood grew darker as the ship proudly sailed past smaller vessels and took an honorary station. Her crew flawlessly set her on anchor, receiving permission to come ashore.

Constance slipped through the crowd, being first to spring a hug on her long awaited man. "James, welcome back!"

He wrapped her in a loose hug, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. Constance glowed with happiness.

Philip nodded a sullen greeting. James responded politely, without enthusiasm.

"How have you been?" James asked her.

"You know me. I've been playing the flute and pestering old men for stories by the docks, still."

"It's not safe there," Philip inserted a word, but James just laughed, interrupting his upcoming lecture.

It was liberating to have Constance near. James was free with her, in sharp contrast with a seafaring discipline where he frequently carried a stone-set expression.

"I've been busy preparing a party for you," Constance announced cheerfully, "but your ship came in a week late, thus we've missed your birthday. Round dates are significant, you know."

"Thank you. Does this mean you still have a present for me?"

"Yes! I will give it to you as soon as you explain the meaning of the new markings on your uniform," she teased, well aware what those markings meant. She just wanted to hear his story.

"I've been promoted to Lieutenant," said James, uncomfortable with discussing it. Constance didn't let him off the hook, staring at him expectantly. "The Captain had surprised me with a practical exam in the middle of our voyage."

"You didn't sleep through it, did you?" she prompted, recalling his not so studious zest.

"It was exciting enough that I couldn't have had I wanted. The performance must have been satisfactory, thus the rank was assigned before we've reached land. I've been caught unaware. The notion still needs to sink in, although issuing orders feels comfortable enough."

"It must have been a perfect exam execution that he rushed the promotion. You've made a Lieutenant before your twentieth birthday!" Constance complimented. In her opinion, James didn't praise himself enough.

"You could have received that promotion much earlier," supplied Philip, "had you allowed your father to speak up on your behalf."

"No, thank you," James scowled. "There are enough 'promoted' men in the Navy as it is."

"Promoted carries the definition of incompetent," Constance finished for him. James disdained those who were not fit to command for receiving stations not through merit. Philip knew it too. He was subtly irritating James on purpose.

Philip shrugged. The ship's homecoming bothered him, though he didn't want to show it. Thus, he was lashing out at James where he could without drawing Constance's disapproval directly. "There is nothing wrong with using your connections to get a higher footing in life."

"My father gave me a great favour by helping me set foot into the Navy when I've received a commission on the first ship. That's quite enough. From then on, based on my talent, if my superiors believe that I will make a good officer they will promote me or demote however they will."

Seeing that he had no allies again, Philip sunk into silence, believing he'd speak with Constance as soon as James left for good, so he hoped. Thus, they made it to Norringtons' home with Constance filling in James on all the significant events he missed.

As they came closer to his home, James showed signs of unease. "Philip, do you know where my father is?" he asked at last, anxiety edged into his voice.

"I'm confident he's home. Although, I didn't hear him mention to be awaiting your arrival," said Philip. He led the way up the steps and announced their presence to the servants.

James looked around as he entered behind Philip. On the outside, his home was almost the same, just the trees getting taller. The interior became different, set with mirrors and foreign objects that were brought into the family when Lawrence Norrington married again. The event took place when James was at sea. Every time he came home, he found it increasingly less comfortable.

James stopped in a doorway like a stranger. His father, informed by the servants, came to greet them. He stopped on the other side of the room, seemingly as stuck as James was.

His days in the military had a disciplinary effect. James remembered that his father was a high ranking officer and held a formal posture. "Admiral," he greeted.

"James, you are home. Welcome," said Lawrence stiffly. They regarded each other uneasily.

"Thank you, father," James added, standing down at ease upon hearing the informal address by his name.

"My compliments on your promotion. I hear a lot of positive comments about your service," said Lawrence.

James nodded stiffly. "I am flattered to be singled out when there are so many capable young men serving His Majesty."

Lawrence put his arms behind his back like he was on deck, in clear discomfort, and then looked to Philip and Constance to focus on someone other than his son. They greeted him and called a retreat.

"We must be going, Admiral. I'm sure James will relish a chance to wash the travel dust off and change." Constance curtsied.

"Constance, wait," James called out before she left. "I would like to speak to you in the evening. Even if you are very busy, I hope you will find spare time to see me."

"Of course I'll be staying home if it means a chance to see you. Please come when you're ready." Constance smiled and went out with Philip at her heels.

The evening couldn't come soon enough. Non-too-gently, she dropped a hint to Philip who seemed to have settled on following her around that she was in no need of his company. Once home, she drew a bath and sat by the mirror, staring at her reflection at last settling on asking her maid to fashion her hair upwards. She cooked some of the food that James liked and changed into a fresh, green dress that was often complimented because it set out her eyes. She wondered around her house in circles, warning her family in advance that she will have a visitor.

James arrived when the clock struck eight. He changed into civilian clothes. He was wearing a brown hat with a dark-green feather that matched his eyes. It was more so pleasing to see him this way because his casual look was becoming rarer, his taste running to naval attire. Somehow, he found the time to buy flowers.

"It is I who should be giving you a gift," she told him, delighted to set the flowers in the middle of the room where she could see those best. In truth, everything about James delighted her.

"Your presence is a gift enough," he confessed. "I come to port where everything changes, where I feel less and less attached to my home and family. Where my father is colder and stepmother is avoiding me. Even Braden seems to be more comfortable at my home than I am. It's my greatest joy to find you waiting. You are changing too, growing more so beautiful and my feelings at the sight of you remain the same, happy and full of love."

Her wish, made on top of the cliffs long ago, came to life. He was looking at her with a great concentration and there was no one else to distract him. She felt like he looked into her soul and bared every secret she held hidden.

"Nonetheless, allow me to give you a present," she said, fleeing close scrutiny and wishing he wouldn't stop looking. It was a small box she concealed that she placed into his hand. "I know you don't have a lot of room for clutter, so the present is small."

James opened the box without damaging the covering and very carefully removed his preset. The box contained two cuff-links. James held them in his palm, admiring the craftsmanship. They were made of crown gold with an intricate web of sea-imagery running around their perimeter. He was touched how much thought she put into the gift, which he hoped meant that she thought about him frequently.

"Thank you. They're a perfect match for my new uniform. I will have them attached as soon as I get the chance," he told her.

"I'm glad," she smiled brilliantly, motioning him into the living room. "Please come in and sit down. I'd like for you to relax. I'm sure you are tired after your mission. I have prepared something that you might like to eat."

They had tea and talked about different subjects, mostly with James describing his latest voyage. She hung onto his words greedily, taking them in with enthusiasm. Yet, his tales seemed to be only a cover, whereas a more serious subject was on his mind all evening. The clock hand ran up to twelve o'clock, making his presence inappropriate at the late hour even for a childhood friend.

At last, James rose from the chair and went up to the window, followed by Constance. They leaned on the windowsill with their elbows nearly touching.

"You have been awfully quiet today. Tell me what have you been doing lately? What holds your interest these days?" he asked.

"I'm having a wonderful time," she said eagerly, refusing to let his tension worry her. "I have one more year at the academy before I'm considered a flute master. I enjoy music very much. I've also gathered all the sea legends. My father put in a word of recommendation with a printing house. There is hope that these tales will be published. I must see both of these tasks through."

James smiled at her enthusiasm, but then looked away, having those questions on purpose. He hoped to hear a specific answer. "James," she prompted. "Did you want to tell me something?"

Slowly, he nodded. His eyes were fixed outside on the night-subdued garden. "My promotion comes at a price. I am being re-assigned to a different ship, the _Dauntless_, under the command of Governor Swann."

"That's good," she said cautiously. "I hear she is an excellent ship, pride of the British Navy."

"Yes, she is," he agreed. "She also guards Port Royal in the Caribbean waters, an ocean away from Britain." He must have gathered his courage because he turned to face her, his eyes sad. "I will not be returning to Bristol soon." In the sailing language, where a month was a short trip, that defined years.

He was not coming back. Her heart froze with the icy spikes shooting though it, but she kept calm. "Well then, once I finish my studies, I will have to come to visit you."

James clasped his hands behind his back firmly, suppressing a hidden impulse to wrap her in his arms. "Unless I've been reading the signs wrong, when you are ready, do I dare hope you'll consider joining me for more than a visit," he asked gently. "Of course, we will need to discuss this with your parents before you make that choice."

"You won't get tired of me if I stay that long?" she asked playfully.

"Don't joke," he whispered.

Constance slid her hands up his chest and wrapped them around his neck, bringing him towards her. It was important for him to see how sincere she was. "Had you asked, I would have come with you today, but you are too honourable to step in between me and my pursuits, for which I am grateful," she whispered.

Slowly, as if he wasn't sure he'd be welcome, his arms settled around her waist. Constance stepped closer, silently encouraging him. "Then, you will not object to me sharing a kiss with you before I go?" he prompted.

"I will object if you don't."

His lips were hot to the touch. She shuddered in pleasure, having imagined sharing one ever since she was fifteen when after one of his absences she fully realised that she wanted him as a woman wanted a man rather than a missed childhood friend. James did not take many liberties, passionate as their brief exchange was, but it meant a world to her and instilled hope for the future.

"I must go," he whispered against her lips. "We are leaving tomorrow or rather today before sunrise."

It was she who pushed him away gently to end their embrace. "Go now, get at least a couple hours of sleep before you are called on duty."

He nodded awkwardly and released her, leaving as expected. Although, their plans seemed realistic, Constance's heart was ill at ease, vague premonition creeping up her insides. On impulse she ran after him through the garden to the gate. James was walking swiftly ahead, almost lost in the darkness.

She caught up and in one fluent motion removed a black ribbon from his hair. James turned swiftly at the assault and gasped, surprised to find her near.

"May this ribbon serve as a tie between us," she whispered, clutching it close to her chest. "I will hold onto it as you are holding my heart. Should we get lost, it will bring us back together again."

A smile tugged the corners of his lips. His last words were filled with love. "Romantic and free, I will always remember you as you are today, Constance."

* * *

><p>Agent047 124/11. chapter 1

Somehow I missed this one and was confused about the transition between Free and Lost. I love this. :) So many great lines, but one of my favorites was, "I will object if you don't." :)


	4. Gone2

**Bristol. Year 1733**

Had it truly been a year ago that she stood with James in her home, watching the garden and whispering promises for the future, Constance mused, finding her way through a morning crowd. It seemed so distant, yet she recalled every detail of that evening clearly. Damp air plastered her locks to the back of her head, but she ignored the minor discomfort, lost in thought. A large basket she held kept tangling up within the whirl of minor obstacles and she pressed it close to avoid losing it, though it wasn't so comfortable to hold it that way.

The marketplace was busy. Constance navigated around the stands and people, picking out the best apples for her planned feast. She was going to bake a pie to celebrate her graduation. Yesterday, she became an acknowledged musician by the best academy in the city. The notes and a gentle temper of the flute still played in her mind as her feet carried her in a dance like state, her heart filled with optimism and deep satisfaction about these achievements. She wanted to share these accomplishments with the person who was on her mind every day. James asked her to play for him when she was a novice, perfectly tolerating many missed notes along with the sound that had not been satisfactory. His smile and encouragement helped her continue the lessons until she began to enjoy the experience. Now, she could play for him beautifully. For him to hear it an ocean had to be crossed. Trifles, she decided, giving her locks an insubordinate shake like she did whenever facing not so easily solved problem. Everything would work out for the best once she had set her mind to it and her mind was currently saying that she wanted to make that pie.

Once the basket was filled with colourful fruit, Constance decided to check on her old friend. It was a good time to stop by the docks. Her visits to them lessened significantly, but the spot still held a lot of fondness and memories. She remembered waiting there for James while pestering the sailors for legends.

Mr Kerry, one of the greatest contributors to her collection, was still there. His fortunes have improved. His aunt died, leaving her modest home and garden to her only remaining relative. Thus, he was enjoying his days in the same spot as ever, except better dressed and sipping a good drink.

Constance greeted him and offered an apple. He accepted the fruit willingly, smiling at her through yellow teeth.

"How have you been, Mr Kerry?" she inquired politely. Her studies consumed too much of her time to see him lately.

"Paying up my old debts, I am, to an old acquaintance," Kerry notified her with great contentment. He too was pleased to see her. The girl was like sunshine wherever she went. "It's a tad difficult as my creditor resides in Port Royal, but I have my ways. See that ship, _Fortuna Minor_; she's departing where I need her to go. The Captain is an old friend of mine. He agreed to take my merchandise aboard and pass it to my acquaintance. It's a find deal we have."

Constance studied the merchant vessel with great interest. It occurred to her that fate was giving her an opening to proceed with the plan made a year ago.

"So, this ship is going to Port Royal?" she confirmed.

"Aye, directly. Rare luck it is."

She knew the sea routes somewhat to agree with the truth of his statement. With luck she could take advantage of it. "Mr Kerry, do you know whether this ship takes any passengers? I must go to Port Royal, but I'm sure I will have trouble obtaining a passage, considering that I am a woman."

"I suppose, for a good price if I put in a word for you," he agreed reluctantly.

"Oh, please, I will pay you and your Captain for all the expenses!" she assured him. "It's vital for me to go there. I've made a promise to someone a year ago that I will sail to him once I finish my education."

Kerry held out his hand to her. He had seen too much in his life to be startled by her unexpected plea. Life was life and it was best to navigate the turns and currents as it passed along. "Do help an old man to his feet, girl. If you have the money, give it to me now, so I can talk to the Captain. But, be quick. If you miss it, you miss it without compensation. The ship is leaving the harbour tonight."

Constance helped him up and passed her purse to him. "Whatever it takes, Mr Kerry, please secure the passage. I'll be grateful to you my entire life."

"Your current gratitude is enough," he waved her off sentimentally. "Go now, prepare for your journey and remember, old Mr Kerry will miss you."

He watched her as she glided away across the dock, her bright dress billowing in sharp contrast with the severity of the sailors. Convincing the Captain to take a woman on board was not nearly the same as convincing him to take a few packages, but when she looked at him with hope, he hadn't been able to disappoint her. Aye, he was going to get that passage for her.

Meanwhile, Constance hurried home. Her mind was occupied by two matters. One was a list of essentials she needed with her, and another was notifying her father. She ran up the sidewalk to her home, then curbed around the wall and peeked into the living room window, wondering if her father was there. Her guess proved correct.

Her father was reading a newspaper, relaxed in his favourite armchair. When he was like that it was always a good moment to address him. Constance snuck past him into the kitchen to prepare a strong coffee. Apple slices were cut and liberally sprinkled with sugar for desert before Constance brought the contraption to her parent.

"Father, I've bought your favourite red apples at the market," she said smiling sweetly, setting the tray beside him and offering him the neatly cut up slices on the refined china plate. He picked up a slice, studying her speculatively. His daughter was up to something.

"Also, I'm leaving today in the evening for Port Royal."

He picked up the coffee cup and took a slow sip, contemplating how to respond and possibly dissuade his daughter's new eccentricity.

"We've discussed this before," Constance interrupted his inner debate. "If you remember that long letter from James five months ago, you've given me your word that you'll let me go."

"I cannot forget, considering that you've been reminding me about it every week. I've agreed only because I have known Mr Norrington since childhood. I have high regard for his honourable personality and his reliable family name. However, plans change. Perhaps, you should send a letter to notify him about your coming. Providing he still has the time and will to entertain you, then perhaps you should consider going."

"He won't go back on his word, neither will I on mine. Even if he isn't currently at Port Royal, away on some patrol, I shall wait for him there to come back. This is a good opportunity to go. Ships do not make regular races to Jamaica. I have achieved all my goals in Britain and have nothing to look forward to except Philip's constant pestering. I cannot wait another half a year to see James before all our letters and curtsies go through." Seeing that her father was not taking well to her reasoning, she resolved to pleading. "Please, father, you know how much I miss him. Maybe you can use your own channels to send a message to him while I'm traveling? You're so clever in these matters."

Winthrop Brook sighed heavily. He loved his daughter enough to let her have her way. She was always so impractical, and yet, he had to admit that her decisions always turned out right, such as her insisting on publishing that became a success. Not that he could ever comprehend her logic.

"You will leave whether I'll give my permission or not," he stated in resignation. He had to be wise and let her go because losing his patience with her sudden plans meant losing his daughter. "Go to him. No one can keep you away, but know that you will be missed at home too."

"You will always have my love father," she assured, kissing his cheek. "I will write to you a lot."

He nodded, but thought that it was not nearly the same as having his daughter close. It was too sudden, even for her spontaneous personality. When was any father comfortable letting his daughter go, whether sooner or later? "Hurry now," he told her. "You don't want to be late. I will send the maid to help you pack your belongings." She was off at once. Winthrop sunk back into the comfort of his chair, thinking how quiet his home will be without her.

Constance went around her room packing the necessary items. It wasn't such a difficult task. Unlike many women, she was reasonable in packing minor luggage as not to irritate the Captain more than necessary. She observed James when he was preparing to go out to sea before and knew what she had to take with her, although her things were feminine. Her process was interrupted by maid's announcement that a visitor was waiting downstairs. Reluctantly, Constance agreed to see him, thinking it was only right to say goodbye to the people she was leaving behind.

Philip stood in the lobby with his hat in hand. He had gotten paler and even skinnier. His lips were a narrow line that went up a bit when he saw her coming. Constance wondered how she could get rid of him quickly. He was dressed richly like he was going out on a parade. His look was fashioned to reflect the successful career at the East Trading Company he was hammering out that gave rise to his ambitions. All of it promised long speeches and a long stay. That, she couldn't afford.

"Good afternoon. Are you here on business to my father or to see me?" she greeted, hoping he didn't want to talk to her.

"I'm here to see you," he told her. "I've heard that you've completed your musical training."

"I did." Her disappointment was evident.

He saw that she was in no mood for conversation and changed tactic. "Walk with me, please," he offered. "It will not take long."

Constance agreed. She didn't take his arm and followed him to the garden by his side, a step out of reach. She didn't ask anything, inviting no conversation. Philip was forced to speak, else their walk would grow awkward and she would leave.

"I've come to congratulate you on your graduation," he offered.

"Thank you."

"Now that you have no further obligations that would take up your time and interest, I assume you will look forward to starting a family. I've come to repeat my offer of courtship."

She was annoyed that he was making decisions for her or making too deep assumptions about what she was likely to do with her life. "So, this time you've decided to take my opinion into consideration. No more hopes that my parents will persuade me?"

Both of them recalled the incident clearly: one with a sense of victory and another with bitter disappointment. When Constance was sixteen, Philip had addressed her father about getting his permission to court her. It was a disaster. After she locked herself away in her room for a week and refused to eat, her family capitulated.

"Don't be so stubborn," Philip tried to persuade her. "You are a woman at a perfect age and health to be bound to a man. I can make your life comfortable. I've already accepted your wildish streak as inevitable; it will not be an embarrassment to me. I've planned a grand party to which I intend to invite your family where I will make my offer."

"I cannot attend your party or my own for that matter because I am leaving today. _Fortuna Minor_ is setting out to Port Royal. If I miss the chance to board her, I will have to wait months before another such opportunity arises."

"You're joking," he said dismayed, but the look in her eyes threw him aback. For an intelligent man, he needed a moment to wrap his mind around the fact.

"No," he said firmly. "You shouldn't. That's absurd to go out after some childhood dream. You always live in the future! Look around you, look at the present! Look at me!"

"Haven't I given you my refusal before?"

"That was three years ago; you were too young. Your heart might have changed or should I say your common sense."

"My common sense never abandoned me nor do I consider it lesser than yours. If it doesn't satisfy you and you are so desperate to change me, then you should consider setting your advances onto someone with different priorities, closer to your own."

"It's precisely because I have a good future for you in mind and accept that you have those foolish notions that I'm inclined to talk you out of it. There are pirates out there waiting to rob you clean."

"Material possessions hold no value to me. Let them take it all if they must, as long as I reach my destination."

"They do more than take all the material objects from women," Philip said darkly.

The implication daunted her, but she refused to let her fear show in front of Philip. "I will be disappointed if James isn't my first, but generally no one dies from such assaults."

Philip's face contorted. He didn't know what he hated more the mention of James or her willingness to tolerate a pirate assault when she refused a good suitor for her hand, himself. It was highly inappropriate to argue with a woman about these matters. He didn't care, too desperate to have her stay. "What makes you think that James wants you that way? I've never seen him take an initiative with you."

"You are not a privy into my personal life. There's so much you don't know about me, even if you've known me half of my life."

"That doesn't change the fact that travelling is dangerous. Going out to sea on a whim is what you call common sense? Sea voyages rarely go smoothly. They are not for those whose heads are filled with romantic notions; they are drenched with blood and sweat. Pirates, hurricanes, corsairs: they will all be waiting for you. You need to own weapons and know how to defend yourself or do you believe that the black ribbon you keep tied to your dress will be able to protect you?" he jibed poisonously.

The barb sunk deeply and ignited her anger. "You manage to insult James even when he isn't here out of spite and envy. You always want everything that belongs to him, you greed-filled monster: his father, his fortune and even his sea rank, although you aren't even a sailor. And don't think I haven't noticed your interest in his father's ship. You want to take everything from him and maybe you'll do it too, like a spider you are, spinning your web. But know this, you will never have me!"

Loathing the sight of him, she started away and then ran. Philip followed her, but she was too quick as she flew up the stairs.

"Fine then! Run to him if you can," he shouted in great fury before she banged the door shut. "You think I've taken something form him? Wait until I take everything from him, EVERYTHING. As for you, you will never reach him! Curse you! Curse your fate with one of those foolish fairy tales that you are so fond of!"

The echo of his words was thrown into the wind. It tangled in the tree branches and went up to mingle with the clouds.

His curse must have been heard by the supernatural powers, for the ship _Fortuna Minor_ never made it to Port Royal. Two weeks following her departure from Britain, she was said to have been thrown off course and went missing at the Caribbean Sea, taking with her the entire crew and one young woman.

The search for the ship was unsuccessful, although the best ship of the waters HMS _Dauntless_ took up the task to look for the lost crew.

* * *

><p>Agent047 124/11. chapter 2

I think my favorite line in this chapter was Constance's comment, "I will be disappointed if James isn't my first, but generally no one dies from such assaults." :)


	5. Gone3

**Caribbean Sea. Year 1733**

It was a miserable morning with a light drizzle clinging to the ship like a sticky shroud, sliding behind the collar of the uniform and wetting the deck, making it slippery enough for the sailors to mind considerably where they stepped. The skies refused either to do a swift downpour, so the sunshine could follow, nor allowed the wind to chase away thin, grey clouds. The weather's state matched emotions of the men aboard the _Dauntless_ as dull and moody. Her mission to search for _Fortuna Minor_, a ship lost a month ago at sea, yielded no positive results. They had, however, encountered another damaged ship, the crew and the passengers of which have been currently evacuated to the _Dauntless_ and relied on her for their survival.

Weatherby Swann held a meeting on deck surrounded by a circle of officers. "It's no good," he had to admit, referring not just to the current condition aboard the ship, but also regarding their entire search. "We must take the passengers to the nearest port and head back to Port Royal."

Out of the corner of his eye he observed the first officer, Lieutenant Norrington. He knew that James had a childhood friend and love interest aboard the missing ship. The search should have ended a week ago, but he delayed that decision. Swann had to admit that after working with James for a year, he developed a soft spot for the young man who was always so serious and yet there was true warmth and kindness underneath that stern look. Swann worried that an open argument might ensue, but lieutenant made not a single gesture of protest. He seemed to have moved none at all, hiding his feelings well.

"We found no one who could provide us with any useful information, no sightings, no rumours, nothing. We must assume there were no survivors. The fate of the ship is regretful. We have done all we could. There's duty to Port Royal to consider. At least, my absence from it can no longer be extended."

When no one argued, he dismissed his officers back to their stations and retired to his cabin. Swann lifted his wig, which at times felt as heavy as his duty and wiped his head with a handkerchief. It really was a miserable day, more so because it felt wrong to keep searching and wrong to abandon the search. He did not become a Governor, however, to make easy decisions, even when someone he knew personally was involved.

There was a knock on the door. A cabin boy brought an envelope to him. Wishing to deal with the matter immediately, so he could remove his coat and relax with a glass of scotch, Swann scanned the letter addressed to him. All thoughts about taking a break evaporated. "Send for Lieutenant Norrington at once," he ordered.

He paced the cabin heavily and then sat down behind his desk, irritably pushing a lantern out of the way as if the object was responsible for all the misery. His order had been fulfilled instantly. He sensed that it had been expected. "Enter," he commanded firmly as soon as there was a knock. His Lieutenant entered, bowing his head down to mind the low entrance. The Governor regarded him gravely. Norrington's impassive appearance may have fooled a stranger, but he had enough time to observe the young man to detect pain and emotional upheaval. Swann no longer felt comfortable putting so much authoritative distance between them with a desk. He got up, telling himself to be kinder. "Mr Norrington, would you care to take a seat?" he offered, phrasing it such that it wasn't a command.

James declined, feeling he could maintain greater formality when he was standing to keep his resolve. Sitting down would make an opening for a less formal interaction where he would be vulnerable to persuasion. As he expected, his letter had not been received favourably. He felt guilty for disappointing the Governor. James thought he finally understood Philip better. Over the past year he formed a bond with Swann. Their discussions and Governor's need of a second opinion on how to run Port Royal's defences more efficiently made it possible to get to know the man well. James held the Governor in high regard. Swann was not his father, but James had experienced great consideration and understanding from the man, which was missing with his father. Thus, his disapproval and opinion had a lot of sway on James who was expecting a rebuke. The Governor did no such thing, surprising him with a different opening.

"This could not have been written in a few minutes that have passed since I've given an order," Swann said in a neutral tone, holding the letter between them.

"I have written it a week ago," James confessed. His admission came with difficulty. His voice dropped a little. "I appreciate that I did not have to give it to you earlier."

The Governor gave a curt nod of approval, having turned the conversation the way he wanted. "You are an intelligent man, Mr Norrington. You have anticipated when the search should have ended. Common sense and the ability to evaluate everything realistically is, I daresay, one of your strengths. Thus, I cannot understand why I am suddenly witnessing the greatest folly I have yet seen from you to this date." He dared the young man to speak the words out loud in hopes that his plan would sound ridiculous out in the open than in his mind, which would help James understand that he was making a mistake. "What is this?"

"My resignation letter," James confirmed, steeling his voice. "I am begging you to accept it."

Swann paused, searching for any signs of hesitation. The young man was highly determined once he made up his mind which served him poorly in this case. Swann didn't want to encounter that trait growing into a wall of stubbornness. He thought he saw the uncertainty and pressed his advantage. "I understand that finding the missing ship is a matter of a personal significance to you, but a rash decision made with a well-meaning intention may still be a wrong decision." With a great concern he watched the man pale, still holding on to his idea.

"With all due respect, I have trouble putting this matter to rest. I'm afraid I will not be as efficient in my duties if it keeps distracting me."

The Governor ignored his thinly veiled excuse without bothering to address it.

"Ah, so you intend to go looking for your love. Have you a crew, a ship, a means to pay for your travelling expenses?" Swann prompted. "Or perhaps you are planning on obtaining those means like a common pirate?"

James blushed and shook his head. No, he would never do that.

"Then what do you intend to do once you resign?"

The question floated dead between them, never answered. James held too many suppressed feelings. The interior floated in front of his eyes. He found himself pressed into an armchair with a glass of scotch in his hand. The drink left a burning taste in his mouth. He saw no accusation in the Captain's eyes, only compassion. Swann laid a hand on his shoulder kindly.

"You are barely twenty one, James. Be sensible, a trait I have known and valued greatly in you since the first day. You are without a doubt one of the most talented young men I've met. You have a great future ahead of you in the Navy. Don't throw it away to chase what is gone. Don't lock your heart or the will to be happy away. Live. Don't leave what you have for a foolhardy mission. Don't let the ghosts of the past hold you back."

Somehow, the Captain always found a way to be persuasive without raising his voice. Listening to him called James back to his senses where his mind dominated over his heart. With the greatest effort he forced his feelings away into an imaginary chest and hid it deep in the recess of his mind. He imagined a chest from some fairy tale that Constance once talked about, although he had completely forgotten the details of that story, something about a woman waiting many years for her loved one. "I will not be held by my past," James agreed, "I'm afraid that one day it will come to haunt me whether I leave it behind or not."

"You do not have to forget that woman, if that is what you are referring to; just don't allow the grief of losing her control your actions. That is not what she would have wanted for you."

"She would have said that same thing had she been alive. Life, she always valued life above all," said James. His throat constricted. His fingers were suddenly limp. He set the glass aside as not to drop it.

"Tell me about her," Swann prompted.

James tried to explain, not that he could express in words the radiance that was Constance. "She is lively and passionate. She is not bound by popular judgements and traditions, preferring to keep her own council and forming opinions based on her feelings. She is naïve and child-like in thinking that the world is a place where everything works out for the best. She seems vulnerable for it, and yet her optimism gives her the greatest resilience and strength. Nothing sinks her spirits. Nothing can destroy her desire to be happy."

The description reminded the Governor about his daughter. He wanted to say 'was' but didn't interrupt James. Swann imagined the young woman clearly with a gentle smile and large, widely-opened eyes that regarded the world with a good will and curiosity. A strong wave of compassion welled up in his chest for the young man who was besieged by an early tragedy, losing a beloved.

"My dear boy, I know you are brave enough to keep your heart open. Love will come back to you one day," he predicted. "Initially, you will be overwhelmed. Take care to deal with your loss one step at a time, walk away from it."

Deliberately, he turned the switch of the lantern. As the flame sprung up with a low hiss, Swann ignited the letter. It was needless to say he declined resignation.

James watched the paper twist, crumble and turn to ash. A single tear slid down his cheek.

"I cannot believe I will never see Constance again."

"She is gone," Swann confirmed. "I'm very sorry. Gone."

* * *

><p>Agent047 124/11. chapter 3

This was so sad, but I love the way you portray James' relationship with Swann, and the way you write them both. I'm also glad to see I'm not the only one who ever thought to connect James with the chest. :) Your interpretation of James continually amazes me - it's pretty much spot-on.


	6. Lost

**Part III**

**LOST**

**Mediterranean Sea. Year 1741**

The rays of sunlight peeked through the lumpy clouds, colouring the deck with a golden light of a late afternoon. The wind was medium in strength, speeding the ship fast through the grey sea. The _Dauntless_, moody all day, was going steadily eastward in broad reach to the Tripoli coast. The masts creaked. Small shudders went through the ship whenever a particularly strong gust of wind ruffled her sails.

The nervousness of his ship transferred to Commodore. The weather might have been safe currently, but at sea the appearances were deceiving. It was best to predict problems and take measures in advance rather than dealing with them once they arose. He examined an on board barometer, sure he would find a confirmation to his suspicions.

"The atmospheric pressure is too low. There's going to be a storm," said Lieutenant Warren. He too looked at the barometer over Commodore's shoulder. The mercury inside the instrument had fallen below the red line.

"I believe so. We are due for a change of wind."

"I hope that is all that happens," said Warren. "I've heard, at this time of the year North gales are kings of these waters and fierce ones at that. I'd hate to be caught in the middle of one."

They went to the railing to examine the sea. Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon to the northeast. The _Dauntless_ was heading towards the area that was turning increasingly less welcoming.

"It might be best to change course and sail up the coast to the Island of Djerba," Warren suggested.

Norrington hesitated. Last evening, he had been informed by a passing merchant vessel that they've sighted the _Black Pearl_. His enemy was near. Norrington did not want to waste time going back to the place that they've finished searching less than three days ago; meanwhile the pirates might leave these waters. He will not be able to locate the enemy again in days, maybe weeks. Yet, this was not the first time he had been given sightings. They've been hot on the trail over a month, but have not yet seen her. Perhaps they've been chasing a ghost. He was about to order the change of course when a shout from the crow's nest stopped him.

"Black sails, four rhumbs on the portside!"

Lieutenant Groves appeared on deck at a run. He stopped beside Commodore to examine the sea through his telescope. Warren handed his telescope to his commanding officer.

Norrington searched the horizon. There was a ship with black sails heading southeast in beam reach, precariously at the edge of the storm. She looked like she was trying to slip across the waves to take cover at Tripoli before the sea fully unleashed its might.

"My God, it's the Black Pearl!" Groves exclaimed. "And she's stuck between us and the storm. I wonder if we can sink her before the storm hits. The wind is working in our favour." He was trembling and his eyes were lit with a call to arms. It was the ancient call to war that was dormant but always alive at the hearts of men. It was contagious. Norrington felt it too.

"Keep our current bearing; it intersects with theirs," he commanded. "Let's raise more sail. It's a bit risky, but the faster we catch them the better."

"How will we bear a storm with a damaged ship and possibly convicts onboard after the battle?" Warren questioned.

"What do you propose; that we let them go when we finally see them?" said Groves. "You were a stick in the mud since day one. You've been warned fairly about the nature of this expedition. Every single one of us had been given a choice not to go, in fact offered more than once at every port. Why did you go with us if you hate it?"

"Somebody has got to be the voice of reason," Warren parried.

Norrington shot him a sharp look.

"Forgive me, Sir. I was out of line."

"Keep our current heading. We will turn back only if the conditions become too dangerous," said Norrington. He knew they would.

After an hour, the sky turned grey. The sun, scraping the horizon, was getting lost among the clouds. Medium height waves with white foam flew around them. The ship lost steady rhythm. She advanced fast, jerking and wavering, influenced by the slightest change of wind. The ships were rapidly coming together.

"Should I notify the crew to get ready for battle?" Groves questioned.

Norrington shook his head. He didn't want to give them a false start and then cancel the order. It just seemed too easy. He didn't trust how quickly they were catching Sparrow's ship. His hunch proved to be right. Groves, whose telescope was constantly fixed on the other vessel, let out a curse. "They're changing course!" he exclaimed.

With a bad feeling, Norrington raised his telescope as well. His throat constricted in anger. Why didn't Sparrow have any common sense? He had to do everything unlike any normal people. The _Black Pearl_ was turning her back on the pursuing ship to head straight for the storm where the sky was dark with the flares of lightening shimmering dully through the low, heavy clouds.

"We can't let them get away," Groves insisted. "If some mangy pirates are willing to take on the storm, the Royal Navy officers can do it too."

"Tacking starboard," said Norrington. "Follow them northeast. Raise every sail we have."

Norrington understood his lieutenant's feelings. When he was selecting a crew, he chose those who held outmost dislike for the pirates. Many of these people suffered personal tragedies at the hands of those villains. They were anxious for battle. One did not arm his men, promise them a fight and then keep them without an action to no end.

Their sailing had been mostly uneventful. In the Caribbean and Atlantic not only have they not seen the _Black Pearl_, but not a single pirate ship had crossed paths with them. It was as if all the pirates had been warned about the heavily armed Navy vessel and hurried to get out of her way. Entering the Mediterranean waters, where Muslims held influence, had changed that. A ship sailed by the unfaithful men was a bounty. Being distracted by such attacks would soon turn their search more difficult. It was another reason in favour of sinking Sparrow's ship sooner than later.

Needless to say, the _Dauntless_ was like a bloodhound that finally sensed her worst enemy near. Although Norrington had a good grasp on discipline, he felt the leash was strained when the enemy came in sight. Turning back meant making a lot of his crew members angry.

"We are gaining on them," said Groves. His cheeks were flushed and his hand kept dropping onto his belt close to a sword handle.

"That's because they have lowered most of their sails, meanwhile we are going at a full speed," Warren pointed out. "Even that fool of a captain knows better." He snapped his mouth shut, realizing that once again he insulted Norrington.

Their situation, however, was becoming dangerous. The ship on the running was difficult to control. The wind picked up to forty five knots. The waves grew larger and splashed heavily against the _Dauntless_. The masts creaked at the bases dangerously. It was difficult even for the experienced sailors to keep footing. The ship was craning and shaking alarmingly.

"Do you realize that this chance may not repeat itself?" said Groves testily. "We are not a sea patrol. We were given a long leave, three months mind you, by the Governor to chase down the pirates, but our station and function is to guard Port Royal. One month is up. If we turn back now, we might not catch them. We will have to go home completely disgraced. It's insanity to waste so much money and time on an expedition only to turn back when we are a step away from completing our purpose."

"We might be a step away from keeling over," said Warren coldly.

"You're exaggerating."

"Are you not? Two months; that's a lot of time left."

Listening to them was extremely vexing. It was akin to hearing his doubts spoken out loud. So far, James had managed to keep a grip on reality. They have taken many risks along the way, but he had always made sure to keep his ship safe. Not one man of his crew had been injured. Those risks had been well measured and justified. His sense of right and years of commanding experience had kept him from radical steps even when he was under an enormous emotional strain.

The responsibility for the lives of his men and the desire to sink the _Black Pearl_ to put an end to his inner anguish intertwined into a tight ball that was stuck in his throat. His chest hurt, his emotions obscured his breathing. He turned sharply and walked away from the arguing pair to arrange his thoughts.

"Commodore!" Warren ran after him to the fore. "Please, Commodore!"

"What is it?" he yelled.

Lieutenant grabbed onto the railing, his fingers turning white. It was one thing to argue with Groves and another to voice his doubts to his commanding officer. A large wave hit the front of the ship, covering both men over-head. Warren coughed. The after impact burned like a cold slap across Norrington's face. The sea looked tremulous. What was he doing? Had he forgotten that this was a far more dangerous opponent than the pirates? A sailor, he was comfortable with the sea, but no sailor should have forgotten its power and the wrath it could muster. He shot one lingering look at the _Black Pearl_ and then turned his back on her.

"We have too much on. Take in the studding, stow the flying jib, take in mizzen top-sails and let go the fore-top bowline," he commanded.

In great relief, Warren called out the orders.

Once he let go of the _Black Pearl_, Norrington considered how to handle the approaching storm. It was too late to change the course radically and too unfavourable to fight against the wind that was pushing them rapidly towards the black clouds. His eyes settled on the line of horizon, the same place that Captain Sparrow must have had in mind before he had crossed paths with the Royal Navy. "Change course to ESE. We will head to Tripoli for cover." Norrington thought that further preparations had to be made. "Lower the halyards, man the cue-lines and bunt-lines, clue close up, haul out the reef-tackles, heal in the weather-brace, steady the lee-brace, haul taut the top-sail halyards."

He looked up to the masts where his crew was carrying out the orders. They struggled with the upper sails that should have been taken in much earlier. The situation was not pleasant, but not overly-threatening, yet.

Groves came up to them for orders. His eyes held a reproach. "Sir, we will discontinue pursuit of the Black Pearl?" He was unable to resist asking.

Norrington swallowed his anger. He wanted to do as Groves had suggested and he would have, had it been only his life to risk. "We postpone it. I doubt, as lucky as he is, that Sparrow will get through this storm unscratched. We are not leaving the area, only changing course to a safer location. Once the storm is over, we will sail looking for him. Hopefully, he won't get far." He shot a warning look to Warren in case the young sailor had anything to add. "We are certainly not going back yet. I would rather avoid this storm, but we will sail through it if we have to."

Suddenly, the deck tipped alarmingly accompanied by a loud screech. The ship shuddered. As Norrington lost his balance, Warren grabbed his arm to steady him. They ran to the helm, sure that the problem originated there.

"Commodore, there is a problem. We cannot turn full starboard. The helm gets stuck."

"I thought we have fixed the helm at the last port when you said there was a minor disturbance with it."

The helmsman shuffled his feet uneasily, clearly uncomfortable with Norrington glaring down on him. Lieutenant Warren interfered.

"It used to be a far lesser problem. We've hired the master who should have fixed it by evening while the crew went ashore. When we got back, he had his tools all around him and he was drunk as a pig. We were going to pour a bucket of water over him to ask if he did what he was hired to do, but then you came aboard and ordered an immediate departure because you received news on the Black Pearl. So, we tossed him with his tools off board and set sail."

"Why haven't you told me that you weren't sure whether the helm was fully functional? There are no such things as minor weaknesses. The sea exploits them and makes them into much larger problems."

"I'm sorry, Commodore, it was my error of judgement. I thought it was unimportant enough to be disturbing your orders."

The man was looking down and James felt a pang of consciousness. Had he intimidated his crew so much that they were afraid to speak to him? That never happened before. It was true that he was more withdrawn and harsh. The last month he lived in a haze. He tended to keep his troubles close to his heart, retreating into his work whenever he was hurt – and he certainly was when the woman he loved chose another.

One of the reasons he wanted to hunt Sparrow was to be away from the Swann family. Granted, Sparrow had caused him more trouble than any other pirate by stealing the _Interceptor_, but he did not hate the pirate as much as he showed. He simply needed to hate someone. It was a made up reason to live. He was holding onto an inner rage, otherwise, he sensed that he could fall into depression. He hoped that soon he would find a better feeling to sustain him, but for some reason the sea hadn't healed his heart. Still, even if he had no emotional strength, he felt guilty about his lack of professionalism. He should have pulled it out of himself even if he had none.

"I am sorry, Mr Warren," he apologized quietly. "In the future please feel free to tell me about any disturbances, even if I am in an insufferable mood."

"You haven't been yourself, Sir," Warren said softly, so only James could hear. "But, everyone here is willing to die following your orders. We are honoured to serve with you. Perhaps, you will consider re-joining an officer table and have a dinner with us, once we get through this storm."

The lieutenant was right again. Whenever James was off-duty he locked himself in his cabin, pouring over the maps, making calculations and trying to guess where the _Black Pearl_ might be. He had not been sociable. Perhaps, that was what he needed, his friends.

"Thank you," he said truthfully, touched by the offered loyalty. "I will consider it. But, first let's take care of the _Dauntless_. Send the crew up to hand the sail. Before they get there, go on the yard, clap the rolling tackle on to steady it and after the sail is handed, piece of canvass abreast of the lee top-mast shrouds. Take in the main-top sail."

"Yes, Sir," Warren smiled. He hoped he was able to get through to the man he always admired. He wanted to help in drawing Norrington away from whatever unpleasant memories he was suffering. Warren served under Norrington's command for two years and had plenty of opportunities to witness his bravery, dedication and outstanding leadership. This was a man to learn from. Eventually, he hoped to befriend this man who stood a few feet away, evaluating his ship with a sharp eye.

Norrington was concerned. He couldn't deny growing danger. Although, removing the extra sails calmed the ship and returned balance to her, the waves rolled back and forth across the lower decks, threatening to sweep overboard anyone who wasn't careful enough. The _Dauntless_ was too heavy. In addition to the crew, she also carried the soldiers, the extra provision, but most importantly she was loaded with heavy weaponry. There were over a hundred cannons at ports. The ammunition too was adding to the weight and sinking the ship down to her limit.

"Mr Groves, please summon all soldiers to the third and second decks and clear all cannons and ammunition from there," he ordered.

"Clear it?" Groves exclaimed surprised. What were they going to do if they met pirates without most of their weapons?

"Mr Groves, 'clear the cannons' does not imply dress the soldiers in aprons and have them blow the dust off the cannons, it means throw the cannons overboard please," Norrington said, a note of sarcasm surfacing.

Lieutenant blinked and then grinned uncertainly. "Yes, Sir!" Was Commodore making a joke? That side of him hadn't been present since they began hunting that damn pirate. It was good to see it again.

Groves ran off to pass on the orders. It might have been harsh to ask the soldiers to throw their weapons into the sea, but he needed the entire crew to focus on sailing the ship. "Mr Warren, get the crew to lower the main and set sails to three reefs."

First rain drops hit the deck. Norrington wondered how the _Black Pearl_ was faring. The ship disappeared in the mist as silently as she came. It was a bad idea to fight in the storm, so he had let her go, but he was unable to resist having one more shot at it. He shrugged off the lingering thoughts and went to check their course. They should be approaching Tripoli within an hour. He was not confident that they will get there in time. He wanted to stay at the edge of the storm, but the course he selected brought him closer to it. It would have been better to go SSE instead, except, that would have taken them too close to Ramkeen island. That cursed piece of rock wrecked too many ships as it was. Thus, to get to a safe spot, he had to risk getting closer to danger.

Tripoli was surrounded by a chain of rocky islands. He ordered to tuck in all sails except the absolute necessary ones for manoeuvring to help in avoiding collisions. The _Dauntless_ had bare masts. They no longer sailed under the light of day. The visibility was decreasing as rapidly as waves were rising in height. The wind turned inconsistent, changing directions at will. It grew in strength to fifty five knots, howling and snapping at the ropes.

"I don't suppose we are in trouble," Groves told him. "I don't think we will be able to find the entrance to the bay in this darkness." He had to shout to be heard over the roar of the wind.

"I don't think we'll be able to find land when I can barely see you two feet away," Norrington told him. "Tell the helmsmen to put our nose windward. Don't get any closer to the shore. I'm afraid we're too close as it is. We should have been able to see the lighthouse by now." He was afraid that the lighthouse wasn't visible because the shore was blocking their view of it.

Just then, a bright lightening illumined the sky and a dark mass before them.

"Light off the port bow," shouted lookout.

"Turn full to starboard," Norrington commanded. He too saw the light.

"Reefs off the port bow!"

With a crippled wheel, the _Dauntless_ was performing the turn unsatisfactory. The boiling, white reef line was getting closer. Norrington was forced to use extra sails to complete the turn, the same ones that could have thrown them against the rocks if the wind suddenly changed. Their luck held. The _Dauntless_ broke apart the white foam by the reefs with the port bow, barely missing them and picked up by the wind battled into the less dangerous waters. As they couldn't enter the bay anymore, open waters was a preferable option. The ship had no business on land, especially stuck on a rock between the land and the sea where the raging elements were ready to throw them.

The storm came crushing down on them, punishing men who had dared to risk testing its power. As Groves bumped into him, Norrington saw his face for an instant. Lieutenant's jaw was set stubbornly, but his brow was creased and his eyes held fear. Norrington had no reassuring words. They were trapped in the middle of the hurricane that tossed and toyed with the _Dauntless_ like she was a small nutshell. The wind rose to eighty five knots, gripping the ship, seeking the tiniest cracks, slightest weaknesses to rip off and carry overboard anything secured too weakly against it. The sea and the sky merged together as one. Thunder and lightening rolled all around them. Each wave rose higher than the next one, throwing the ship into the sky and then down in between crushing waves. Norrington wondered how much strength his crew had left to see the struggle to the end. Weariness crept into his bones. He had been on duty all previous night and day, feeling restless. He shrugged and shook it off. The _Dauntless_ was holding on in this exhausting struggle. She was broad, reinforced and heavy. Tipping her over was no easy task even for a hurricane. Without any elegance, but stubbornly she kept scaling waves one after another. He was confident, they could endure this wind until the morning - unless, something damaging happened to the ship.

It was then that the bindings that held upper sail snapped. The sail broke loose. No one could have gotten anywhere near it on top of the dancing masts. The wind instantly sunk its claws into the fabric. The _Dauntless_ heeled and tumbled off a wave. It flew uncontrollably at an arc towards the shore. "Cut down the main mast!" Norrington yelled at the top of his lungs. His voice broke. Warren and Groves had disappeared from his side. The mast snapped in half on its own and tumbled down, tangling up with the rigging of the mizzen mast, breaking it too. A tall wave raised the ship into the clouds in final round and threw her against the rocks with a deadly force.

Norrington lost his footing and rolled across the deck in the shower of splinters and planks. He must have temporarily blacked out. The next thing he knew was Warren shaking him. Unable to shout over the surrounding noise, Norrington pointed at the lifeboats. He didn't need light to know that the _Dauntless_ was beyond repair. He clutched his throat to show that he couldn't speak. Warren understood. Perhaps it was a small mercy that he wasn't the one to shout 'Abandon Ship!'

However, leaving the ship was as good as staying onboard. The lifeboats were powerless and insignificant against the raging tide. The evacuation was going with difficulty. Norrington forced himself to hold his head high and look at his crewmen whom he had taken to the gates of death. He saw every last of them off and then gave a push to Warren, motioning the man to the last boat. It would be over soon, he thought. He had no excuses. It was only fitting to die with his ship. Warren must have guessed his thoughts. Swiftly, he grabbed Norrington and threw them both off balance. They tumbled into the lifeboat before Commodore had a chance to resist. The boat separated from the ship. Norrington froze, afraid to tip them over if he fought. Warren, however, maintained a firm grip on his wrists. The men rowed fiercely with their lives on the line, fighting a lost battle. Norrington peered into the darkness. It was difficult to tell how far they were from the shore. One of the waves turned over their boat with ease.

Because lieutenant had been holding his hand, they ended up in the water close together. James swallowed a lot of water and went under. As it turned out, they were closer to land than he thought. His feet touched rocky bottom and he pushed against it, floating up. Warren was still nearby, also swimming to shore. They fought the mad tide. The waves kept knocking them off their feet, trying to drag them back into the icy depths. There was a line of rocks ahead. James hurried to it to secure against the onslaught of the next wave. He grabbed onto the rocks, but his lieutenant, fallen behind, didn't make it. The wave pushed him forward and hit him against the rocks. James dived into the vortex, searching for Warren. Wet cloth hit his face and he grabbed blindly, soon finding a hand. Norrington secured the unconscious man on his shoulder and dragged him to shore. Warren was a dead weight on him.

After eternity he made it out of the waves' reach. He dropped onto his knees completely exhausted. Warren was not moving. James ripped the navy coat and shirt off the man. He had to restore Warren's breathing. He followed through the first aid procedure perfectly, having done it before, but there was no change in the man's condition. James reached for his hand, looking for the signs of life. It was limp in his hard grasp. A lightening illumined wide-opened eyes of a man no older than twenty. James closed Warren's eyes. His anger was gone. All that was left was a lingering sadness. He kept holding the young man's hand numbly.

His eyes strayed to the sea where the pride of the British Empire was torn apart and lost to the wind and waves. Then, he traced a path to the shore, wondering how many of her crew will not make it to safety. He tried to recall the words of a prayer for them, but only two words spun through his mind endlessly - disgraced and lost.


	7. Resigned

**Part IV**

**RESIGNED**

"Court Rise."

Biting down the pain, James followed the order. His feet hardly supported him. Knowing how much at fault he was, he was compliant, doing nothing to worsen the situation that he was most remorseful for. This trial was arranged for losing the _Dauntless_. He was at fault, waiting to be accused and judged still lost in the grip of the nightmare that he had physically survived.

His memory was a haze. In the morning, when the howl of the hurricane died down, the scattered across the shore crew who survived the night found their way to gather around him. They found him kneeled by Warren's body and pried his hand away. They weren't many. He didn't remember communicating with them, aside from whispering through the cracked and bleeding lips that he was sorry. They were saying something to him too that he didn't make out. He caught a tropical fever and remembered lying down on the sand, burning up, although he vaguely recalled being in the scant shade with someone's coat placed under his head. He must have imagined it. Who would have helped him? Luckily, Tripoli was a busy place. They were rescued the next day by a passing ship. The injured were brought to the nearest port and from there they were taken to the hospital. He was separated from the rest of the crew due to his fever and he hadn't seen them since. James assumed that none of them wanted to see him because they were blaming him. In the confines of the narrow hospital bed he was visited by the nightmares prompted by guilty conscience.

He hadn't been given much time to recover. His illness lasted eight days. On the tenth, as soon as he could stand, he was called to court to answer questions about the destruction of the _Dauntless_, to be condemned.

James hoped that his previous record, almost fifteen years of flawless service would be taken into consideration; no man was perfect after all and could make a mistake. Not that it lessened the severity of his error that he, his own judge, was blaming himself for. His hopes, however, have been dashed by the presence of a man he had never expected to see again. Philip Price with a neutrally composed mask and cold resentment lurking in the depths of his black eyes burdened him with a stoned glare across the courtroom. The last contact he had with the man was a bitter letter from Philip nine years ago, blaming James for Constance's death. It was a painful reminder in the hour of hardship. James learned that Philip was designated by the British ministry to attend to his case specifically. Philip was doing his job with the deadly perfection honed from childhood. Weighted down by the combined accusations, James felt very ill indeed as his persecutor was dictating to the court his vision.

"According to the first officer, Lieutenant Groves, a man of excellent virtue who has recommended himself with a long service to the Navy and soon to be promoted to a Captain, Commodore Norrington had been offered an alternative by his second officer Mr Warren to avoid the hurricane by heading to Isle Derjeba. The suggestion had been rejected. He had been there in person when the conversation took place. Mr Groves begged to miss the attendance to court as he has not yet recovered from injuries, but we have a letter bearing his signature that confirms Mr Norrington's ill judgement."

James felt even sicker. He never heard a word that Groves was soon to be promoted. He suddenly remembered the day when he heard Philip speak about using connections to promote officers. Wasn't his lieutenant the one who encouraged pursuit of the _Black Pearl_? Had Groves betrayed him for the Captain's title? But, what right did he have to hope for loyalty when he led his crew to their deaths? He deserved none. James was wrecked by guilt meanwhile Philip seemed to be at the top of his power.

"Furthermore," Philip stressed, his intonation lingering unpleasantly on the name, drawing delight from highlighting the instances where he could get away without using James' title. "Mr Norrington had a personal grudge against the pirate he had been in pursuit of. The above mentioned pirate, Jack Sparrow, had deeply humiliated him by stealing the Navy ship, the _Interceptor_, from Port Royal that was under Commodore's command. Mr Norrington ignored his duty and the safety of the _Dauntless_ to satisfy his vengeance in order to catch this pirate by any means, even at the cost of the lives of his men. It is a strong recommendation of the Investigation Department to strip him of all his property to pay for the damage, take away his title at once and try him at the military tribunal with a penalty of death."

No matter how much Philip disliked him, James was shocked. Was he so naïve that he hadn't expected to hear that he will be subjected to the most disgraceful punishment for a military man? Meanwhile James considered himself a realist, he was caught unprepared. In addition to accusations he was physically ill. His uniform or rather what remained of it was suffocating hot. A man shipwrecked in a foreign country and deprived of every comfort had no better luxuries. Even his weapons were gone. The injuries he sustained in the shipwreck were letting themselves known after being ignored due to shock and fever. He had no better alternative, nor ability to summon some energy for defense, than to watch and submit as Philip tore him apart. He received a small reprieve when the Judge interfered.

"That's not quite the full picture," the judge cooled off an overly eager persecutor. James with satisfaction noted that the judge didn't like this stuck up intruder hoisted on him by a far away country attempting to rule his court. Philip shot James a poisonous glare as if it was his fault that the judge disliked him. "According to the other surviving crew members, Commodore ordered to discontinue the pursuit of the _Black Pearl_. Therefore, he hadn't neglected the lives of his crew members. Whether or not his decision where the ship had to wait out the storm was a poor one is another matter, but his command to alter the course took place. He will not be tried by the military tribunal nor have his rank forcefully stripped from him. However, the loss of the best ship of His Majesty due to the improper command must be compensated. I would like to use your documents concerning all his property in Port Royal to make the estimates."

"Of course, Your Honour." Philip with a false humility passed the documents to the judge. "I also wish to bring to Court's attention that Mr Norrington's family cannot be held accountable for his actions. His father, Admiral Lawrence Norrington, chose to break connection with his son in shock of his actions and to disinherit James Norrington. Therefore, if the payment for the damage will exceed Mr Norrington's finances, his former family cannot be held liable."

James greeted his teeth. They both knew that without his father's help he earned a fortune significant enough to pay for the loss of the _Dauntless_. At least, there he would come off clean. He believed hey were going to take everything in order to repay the families of the dead crew members too. Philip simply wanted to draw more attention to his humiliation and to inform him so dispassionately that his father turned his back on him when he ran into trouble. James was asked to sign several official documents to confirm that he was handing over his fortune willingly and will not be filing a protest. His ordeal was not over.

The judge looked tired. On days like these he had to tolerate his duty. He bypassed Philip and looked directly at the accused as he called the final judgement. "It is the decision of the Court that Commodore Norrington will not be forcefully removed from his position. However, the Court strongly recommends that he takes Leave of his current post at Port Royal. He will be given two months for the recovery of his health and he will be granted permission to apply for another position within the British Navy afterwards."

James could have almost laughed at that. No one would hire him with a tainted record. It was not a recommendation but an order to resign.

The Judge addressed him directly, "Commodore Norrington, do you accept the Court's recommendation?"

He had no choice. No other answer was allowed. "Yes, Your Honour."

His trial was over. He paid for the mistake and was dismissed. The courthouse was an ominous presence behind him, thus James turned a corner to be away from it. Further than that, he had no idea where to go. Light-headed, he leaned against a wall. He had been discharged from the hospital and from the Court. He had no home, nor job to go back to. Apparently no peace either. With difficulty, he pushed away from the wall and straightened his posture, feeling someone's approach.

"I'm glad you didn't get far, so I didn't have to look for you. I have a warning you may want to consider," said a cold voice behind him.

James turned around slowly, trying to slow mad beating of his heart.

Philip stood a few feet away. Time hadn't been kind to him, imprinting on his face his greed and sucking away all the warmth and handsomeness from him the same way he sucked dry selfish advantages out of anything he encountered. He had gotten more angular and bony. His hair got thinner, his shoulders were hunched and his face held a yellow tint. Small, round spectacles didn't suit him at all. He looked far older than his thirty.

"Do tell," James parried just as coldly, "but I give no guarantee that I will heed it." He took a step towards Philip. Another man stepped in between them. He was close to six feet four, blocking Philip almost fully from view with just a part of his body. James recognised Braden.

"You will do well to stay away from England." Seeing that James stopped, Philip went around his bodyguard so he could see his opponent better. He had to enjoy every bit of James' defeat. "No one is waiting for you there."

James hadn't been planning to travel to England. However such demands made him combative. "You are speaking about my father? Smooth work, poisoning him against me while I was away. We'll see if he can confirm your words to my face. No hurt feelings, but I've had plenty of opportunities to witness your lies to be giving any credit to your assurances. I want to hear in his own words that he no longer sees me as his son," James threw disdainfully.

"Ah, so the papers in Court bearing his signature weren't enough for you. Neither have ten years that he had been out of your sight. Neither had a complete lack of letters or any other exchange between you," Philip leered. "You were as good as strangers before you brought disgrace to Norrington name and even more so now. However, that's not what's important. If you have any sense of shame, you will not go to your father. His health, that was bad enough, had been severely undermined by the news of your folly. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to keep it from him. The bare fact of seeing you might be enough to send him to his grave before you even speak to him. You are too skilful at causing pain and bringing death to anyone who might have the misfortune of being related to you."

"What does that supposed to mean?" James asked suspiciously. He wondered what Philip was hinting at.

"Constance," Philip hissed, coming close to losing his composure. He was trying to act cool and detached, and to look down on his opponent; however, just the mere existence of James stirred his hatred and made him lose part of his eloquent, measured strikes. "It's your fault that she went after you! She followed you to Port Royal and she was lost on the way. She went to you for nothing. You never even cared about her. I could have given her everything in England, money, status, connections where her every whim would have been waited on and fulfilled faster than the Queen's. She would have been alive and revered, and not lying dead at the bottom of the Caribbean Sea!"

"Don't you dare say that I've never loved her! Love, the concept you will never grasp. I went looking for her when her ship went missing."

"But you have failed to find her!"

Infuriated, James lunged forward and crashed his fist into Philip's face. His own head reeled from a counter-blow delivered to his temple. He fell. Heavy boot smashed into his face. He covered his head with his arm to prevent more damage. No further assault came.

"That's quite enough, Braden. We don't want to attract too much unnecessary attention. We have a reputation to protect after all, unlike someone who doesn't have any left."

Philip stood, covering his nose with a handkerchief. He hated blood on his person and having James draw it made him angry.

"You never knew when to give up for good," he hissed. "This time I will beat you so that you will never rise. Don't think for a moment that I haven't been keeping my spies near you. Losing your commission isn't the worst that will happen. There are more sins hanging on you. Letting Jack Sparrow escape and not punishing those who aided him was a fishy business that I will bring to the attention of a few influential people. With luck, I will have an arrest warrant fashioned just for you. Don't think you can come back to society to regain your career. Jail and gallows will await you there," he choked on his words in hatred. "I'll destroy all your friends too and send them to the gallows. How about that Governor? If you failed your duty to pursue that pirate, he should have ordered it at once, but he didn't. And those people who helped the pirate escape? I will have all their heads."

"Leave the Swann family alone, Philip!" James hissed, and instantly regretted it. He realised it was too late to take the words back because Philip smiled nastily, finding another weak spot.

"Oh, so you still care for them? Do you? The more reason for me to destroy them."

"Leave them be."

"Or what? What have you got to persuade me?"

Steeling his heart, James unlocked a cuff-link. He hadn't lost it even in the hurricane. He knew that Constance would have insisted on him giving up the material, if deeply meaningful, object to save others. "This was Constance's final gift. You can have it if you leave Swanns alone."

Philip eyed it greedily. "Give me both or no deal," he demanded.

James complied. Philip nodded to Braden and his loyal dog came to gather the cuff-links.

"I will see what I can do about the Swanns," Philip said coldly, "but I make no promises. My superiors at the East Trading Company are highly informed. They may find out regardless. But, I will do my part and if worst comes to worse, maybe I'll even be set up as a Governor in Swann's place."

"You lying snake," James spat.

"Watch your language! You're a nobody! No one in this world cares about you or wants you to be alive! Go and die somewhere because this world has no place for you," Philip yelled. He swiftly turned on his heel and walked away with the giant figure of Braden looming behind him.

James clutched the nearest rock, ready to hurl it at Philip's back. Yet, that action would only have caused him to be arrested. Philip had the power of the law on his side and all James had was disgrace weighting him down. His entire life had been destroyed. All the hopes to regain his dignity were severed – gone, swept away into abyss just like his love. The faces of Elizabeth and Constance stood before his eyes and their features were slowly dissolving into a red mist. Iron bonds, similar to the shackles he could imagine, wrapped around his wrists, clicked shut around his heart and squeezed it painfully. Something died inside him. His hand released the rock and dropped into the street dirt in resignation.

* * *

><p>Thank you very much for all your reviews. =)<p>

Agent047 9/4/11. chapter 1

You write beautifully, even though this was tragic, and I know it was intended to be. It was easy to imagine that this is exactly how it happened.

I'm A Fluffy Panda chapter 7 . Mar 31, 2014

God! All the chapters made me freaking cry! ;_; PLEASE UPDATE!

LinaO'sullivan chapter 7 . Jul 10, 2014

My goodness...this was so beautiful! ...it can't end like this...? is there more to this fiction? I simply most know the rest...please tell me there is more...?


	8. Reborn

**Part V**

**REBORN ch1**

**Caribbean Sea. Year 1742**

"James Norrington, do you fear death?"

James looked up at the abomination cursed to his fate of servitude, a duty he no longer loved nor cherished but bound to serve for eternity. Davy Jones was looking into his eyes, and James guessed that the Captain could read his mind as he stood on the threshold between life and death. James pitied him, the man who had been corrupted so. This is the fate James had avoided when he freed Elizabeth without hesitation. He was incapable of serving a cause he did not believe in. He had been taught by his father from cradle that it was his job to protect the innocent lives from the pirates. He recalled his father's words when he was first taken out to sea at the age of five.

"_You need to be brave, son. There are men out there who are savages, and they want to destroy your entire way of life. They are uncivilized, heathen, thieving, filthy pirates, and when I have gone to a final rest, it is you who will carry on the banner of civility and order, and help the Crown and our allies in the East India Trading Company eradicate their slime from the Seven Seas._"

Since the East Trading Company had declared that they were out to destroy pirates, James had believed that this was a good cause that would lead to the safety of the merchants and honest sailors. That serving this cause would redeem his sins, which had been highly naïve, now he had had to admit. It was so until he had learned that Beckett was interested only in expanding his influence, not keeping the seas safe for the peaceful dwelling, until he understood that Beckett, to gain power, was willing to kill those civilians that James wanted to protect. Not that he had ever assumed that Beckett was a kindly man who would help others out of the goodness of his heart, but being self-serving did not mean that the man was a murderer, nor had his personal dislike of the man been an obstacle to regain his career and pursue what he saw as a good cause, hunting down the robbers and murderers. Elizabeth proved him wrong. They have murdered Governor Swann, the man who had been like a second father to him. His pact with the East Trading Company was over, as far as James was concerned. Thus, he did not escape his service to Beckett to get trapped on the _Flying Dutchman _that was under Beckett's command still, even if he doubted that it would last long.

Did he fear death? No. It was a mockery of a question to which he responded with a jest of his own by running his sword through the Captain's shoulder with his last remaining strength. He felt the cold kiss of death on his lips and welcomed her coming. His life flashed in front of his eyes. He wondered if it meant that soon he would see Constance again, that soon he would meet his mother; although, perhaps he was going to Hell rather than Heaven. Either way, the darkness was alluring and comforting where the excruciating pain from his wound no longer tormented him.

"No!" Davy Jones shouted in fury. "I deny you that!"

The Captain feared death all his life. The man who was meeting it so boldly inspired his envy. The same man who dared to disdain Davy Jones for his choice, the same man who desecrated the rules of his ship and allowed the prisoners to escape. Worse, he was thinking about his love and family while dying. Brutally, he yanked the spar from the man's body and flooded it with the sea magic. He was violating his duty to guide souls into the afterlife, but it wasn't for the first time. With the greatest satisfaction he heard the man scream in anguish. "You shall go to my Locker instead," Jones decreed.

Cold washed over James again, but it was no longer the peaceful, numbing feeling. He was thrown into the sea. The water squeezed his chest and filled his lungs, the world turned over with the last image being a keel of the _Flying Dutchman_.

Then, there were stars, and water, and a dim curve of the land ahead. Something eerie and freezing passed through him, causing an uncontrollable sting of panic. He saw a white form floating away. It was a ghostly woman with long, tangled hair spread out around her head like white seaweed. But he was given no time to check whether anymore of these ghosts were near nor consider how to avoid them as a wave picked him up and carried him ashore.

He rose with difficulty. His feet were sinking into the sand. Smaller waves kept lapping his feet. Several steps to a securer spot were difficult. He knelt unwillingly. The shock that had not fully registered when he saw Elizabeth as the Pirate Captain and the following events caught up to him. His unmatched ability to organise everything step by step and follow it had saved him from breaking down. He had a plan to allow the crew of the _Empress_ to escape. Now that his logical chain of events had been broken, and he had no plan, he was left vulnerable, and the emotional response followed. He was close to a complete nervous exhaustion. He needed rest.

The heat of the sun shining right into his eyes raised him from the restless semi-unconsciousness. He squinted, seeing an endless line of the white sand stretching one way and equally empty sea shimmering to the other side. So, this was the legendary Davy Jones Locker. He might have even liked it had he an inclination to lead a hermit life, otherwise, the heat and monotonous landscape would cause an insanity promptly. Considering that he was to stay here forever, his body no longer needed food or water to survive, James thought. Otherwise he would die, as it was out of the question to find anything here but mirages. But he could feel thirst and hunger with nothing to quell either.

He was still dressed in his Admiral's uniform, minus a large hole in his shirt where the spar had entered his body. There was a long, ugly scar crossing his stomach. He ran his hand along his back and discovered another scar. There was no one to see him, but he adjusted his attire properly after examination, keeping all his items on, even if his naval jacket was hot. Perhaps he was holding onto the familiar items because they represented order and civility in his mind. He was not too comfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings without his weapons. He had dropped his pistol when he was stabbed by Bill Turner, and his sword had been taken by Davy Jones. His prisoner status was unsettling because it was chaotic, whereas he was comfortable with rules and structure.

He could not have even claimed with certainty whether he was dead or alive. Although, he believed that his body was well enough to function efficiently. He could run and fight and sing if need be, but he was not ready to be singing to himself yet. It was best to explore the place he had been cast to. He was too much of a sailor for the vast reaches of the desert to hold an appeal. Thus, he went along the brim of the sea.

After an indefinitely lasting walk he had discovered that the Locker was not entirely desolate. There were crabs that he had first mistaken for rocks inhabiting the shore. One of them began following him. Perhaps they could be trained as pets, James considered. With a small grin he thought that it might be a future project when he was closer to living out of his mind. But maybe he could delay that if he found someone else. Perhaps there were other prisoners too. But, even if there were, how long would he have to search for them he didn't know. He had to occupy himself somehow. He was a man of action who feared idleness.

Up ahead he saw a pile of debris. These were the remnants of a ship: some planks and boxes and even a piece of a sail. He sat down on one of the boxes that lay half-sucked into the sand. The crab perched beside him and then edged closer to James. "If I had some rope, I could probably tie these boards together and explore the sea," James told the crab. The creature blinked its eyes and hid in its shell. James sighed. He wondered how safe the sea was. He did encounter the ghost, but aside from panic it hadn't harmed him. It was probably impossible to die in the Locker; otherwise, it was a far too easy way to escape the punishment.

He didn't know how to escape alive, however. He did spend enough time in the company of the pirates hearing all sorts of crazy legends that he didn't believe at the time. Someone did mention an escape, but no one knew how to do it. Now that death had passed him by he didn't want to go to the gates of the eternal rest again. He had some unfinished business in the world of the living, such as Philip. Another reason he had allied himself with the East Trading Company was a hope to locate the man by working within the system and repay him for all he had done, but Philip proved to be too slippery. Once Philip found out that James was in favour with Cutler Beckett, he made sure to cover his tracks and get away far enough so James wouldn't be able to reach him. Maybe he should have forgotten about Philip. Revenge had led him astray. He felt far too weary to waste anymore of his life on hate. Weariness was deep in his mind and in his heart. He felt it spread through his body. Small voice at the back of his mind was telling him to allow it to take its hold. His shoulders slumped. James didn't notice how he had fallen asleep again.

It was a night once more, but not the pitch darkness. He could see the dark waves, the dull glimmer of the sand, and the already familiar crab.

"It took you long enough to succumb to the sleeping enchantment," the crab accused him.

So, he had lost his mind earlier than he thought he would, James considered. The crab looked like he expected an answer, and if it was possible for a crab to do, he was frowning. James felt obligated to reply. "Forgive me, Sir," he said a little ironically, "had I known that you have a need of me, I would have done so earlier."

"Sir?" the crab exclaimed in indignation. "I am the great Goddess Calypso! Ruler of the sea! You mortals get more ignorant and less devout with each generation!"

"Forgive me, Your Worship," said James, deciding it was best not to make enemies of anyone in a desolate place, even if it was a crab and a figment of his imagination, "I have not recognised you due to your unexpected form, but I shall address you properly, that is, how shall it be?"

"You may call me Calypso," said the crab graciously. "I forgive you because you have been a good servant of the sea. When you love it, the sea will know and repay you in kind. It shall take you where you are being called to. Look over there."

Nearby, James saw a small hermit crab leaving his shell and crawling away along the shore.

"His time has come. He has outgrown his shell," said the crab. "He must clear it entirely, so the new master can inhabit it. Do you understand? Nothing must be left from the previous owner. It's the same way with all things. Do you know what happens if the master of the Locker dies? It will no longer be Davy Jones' Locker, will it, if he isn't alive anymore. All his toys will be swept away for a new owner to put his own toys here. I'd hurry if I were you." The crab laughed and clicked her claws.

James found himself jolted back to reality. He was spread out inelegantly on the sand beside the box. A rope was pressed into his hand. Not questioning his luck, for guessing where the rope had come from would only cause him a headache, he began to work on the raft. It was turning out a shabby contraption. His working material was in a very poor state, rotten and old. James had doubts that it would float, but intuitively he sensed danger and thus didn't stop his work to look for anything better.

He wasn't done when a chill ran up his spine. He turned. The sea was rapidly withdrawing and forming a giant wave at a distance that headed directly for him. With speed, James threw the remaining end of the rope around his body and tied it in a dead knot around his arm to secure himself on the raft. He wouldn't have been able to hold onto it otherwise. He inhaled deeply and held his breath an instant before the wave had hit him. He was deafened and blinded by the impact. A whirlpool with floating debris spun him, randomly throwing him to the surface for speedy breaths of air.

Something heavy slammed into his back. The water coloured in red. He barely restrained himself from crying out in pain. There was hardly any air left in his lungs as it was. He saw colourful spots. The raft was tugging him upwards. When he thought he would drown, the raft broke the surface, dragging him along like a lifeless doll. He gasped for air greedily, until the fear abated and he noticed that he was no longer lost in the whirlpool. The sea was calm and swayed his battered raft gently. There were only a couple of boards left of it, but it held him afloat.

Nonetheless, he didn't think he could last long in this position; maybe a couple of days if he was lucky. He was adrift in a dense fog, where even his raft was hardly visible to him. Even if, by chance, a ship would come by, no one aboard would notice him. The sea salt in his re-opened wound was causing him awful pain. He was horribly thirsty. He knew that men could not last longer than three days without water. It was a long lasting torment to float and wait for the inevitable; a slow death.

Hours had gone by and the temperature decreased. The fog coloured from white to dull grey. He sensed that the day was coming to an end, although no sun was visible. The rope had gone through his sleeve and was cutting into his arm, drawing fresh blood. He felt like it would soon reach his bone. His head was pounding. He was both cold and burning up hot at once. He had to re-consider his generous two days assumption.

How foolish it was to escape the Locker only to die at sea, he thought, before slipping into unconsciousness once more.


	9. Reborn2

A thin trail of smoke cut through a mild chill of the early morning, rising above a bark-made hut. It was a small contraption perched at the foot of a rocky hill in the jungle, big enough only for four people to sit in it at the same time. The leaves in the low fire were cracking peacefully, warding off evil spirits rather than true cold from the two dissimilar people who admired the flickering flame.

"Please tell me a story, Tin Agan; the one about the white mist that surrounds the island," requested the woman softly. She added another branch into his flame, a privilege not many were allotted, and her companion once again was reminded by her pale-skinned hand that she was a foreigner, although he had always felt a spiritual connection to her.

The old savage turned his head low downcast, the flame dancing on top of his completely hairless skull.

"Why haven't you taken at least one of your men if you don't want mine?" Tin Agan inquired. He didn't want to talk about the white mist. It protected his home for more than sixty years, whereas the sea men wanted it gone.

The woman seemed sad, but unsurprised. Tanga, the name of the tribe who inhabited the island, were not good at the art of deception. Their leader changed the subject randomly when a difficult question was posed to him. "Why does the whole world want me to get married?" she asked her own question, indicating that she too didn't want to answer his inquiry. She was struck by an irony that no matter in what end of the world she ended up, everyone kept trying to find a companion for her.

Tin Agan lifted his head, a spark of agitation coursed underneath his heavy eyelids. "To have more children on the rising sun," he said in agitation. "Sea men only have treasure in their eyes. Children of the rising sun have the desire for knowledge. There should be more like you," he insisted. The woman baffled him. He had tried to encourage her to take his best warriors for herself, and many of them were willing, but she didn't want any of them. It would have been good to have a new Chief taking her for a wife. She had to; especially now that Tin Agan knew how fast his health was failing. He wasn't confident that the peace treaty with the sea men would hold after his death. The woman would die. He didn't like that.

She wasn't listening to him. The faces of the sea men were difficult to interpret, but he had learned to understand hers after many years. She had a distant look that meant, her ears were open but her heart was closed to his words. He was stabbed with a wave of irritation that she was ignoring the danger. Once, he even planned to trick her into taking one of his men, but the night before he put his plan into action he had a nightmare. The sea rose and covered the island. He took it as a sign that the Spirits condemned his plan. No one was allowed to choose her mate but her. He almost doubted their wisdom in this, but was afraid to doubt his Spirits and was forced to watch her and do nothing.

"I want to sleep," he said irritably. It was useless trying to force her to accept his good intentions.

She understood.

"Thank you for granting me a visit, Tin Agan."

She touched the ground with both palms respectfully and silently made her exit. Much of her latest conversations with the elderly Chief have been the same. Questions were asked and answered by other questions, to be replaced with the same questions. She understood that she was unreasonable, that her time, at the age of twenty eight, was running out to start a family, but every day she was drawn to the sea instead, looking at the waves whenever she was not busy with her chores at the small settlement constructed over the nine years by the surviving crew of the ship.

She realised that the knitting and mending was waiting for her, but it was her ritual every morning to go to the shore and watch the sea. It was a strange sight, the sea, at the isle of Tangani. She had nearly forgotten what the sight of the waves stretching towards the horizon was like. There was no horizon. The sea, grey or green, turbulent or calm, depending on the weather was always lost in a curtain of fog that shrouded the island, hiding it from view. The island was invisible if you looked at it from the other side, from the open sea.

In addition, the island was surrounded by multiple dangerous reefs. It was great luck that her ship, after getting lost in the fog, had somehow slipped by this invisible barrier and made land only with a minor damage. However, there was no way back. They have realised this after two months, when it became evident that the fog was never going to abate.

Certainly, they were grateful that they have been left alive. Over nine years, there were three other ships that had the misfortune of encountering the island. After they hit the reefs, majority of the surviving crewmen were found by Tanga and cooked with many pompous rituals. The Tanga saw other ships as separate tribes. Unless the lost sailors were found by the sea men first and initiated into their 'tribe' the Tanga saw them as their enemies and felt the right to treat them as such.

Six years ago, she dared to interfere and begged Tin Agan to spare a crew of a small trade ship that became Tanga prisoners. With the greatest reluctance the Chief had agreed, and it caused a rebellion. A few ambitious men who wanted to get rid of their aging Chief took up arms. There were over thirty casualties before the rebellion was suppressed, with the crew helping Tin Agan defeat his enemies. His authority remained fully in tact, with many Tanga holding almost a sacred reverence for their longest reigning leader. But, she had also realised that she could never ask him for such a favour again. This has only doubled her determination to visit the shore every morning. If there were any castaways, she would have a chance to save them from the Tanga warriors.

At the recollection, she checked that her weapons were in place. There was only so far she trusted the treaty with Tanga after the rebellion that claimed the lives of the two crew members. Not that she was ever exceptionally good with the weapons, but they still guaranteed a better safety.

Her concern was forgotten and a smile tugged at her lips as she caught a glimmer of the sea ahead. It was beautiful even if it did not stretch as far as the horizon. She always held reverence for the sea. She sung to it sometimes, and even quietly shared her life tales as she waddled through the surf.

The temptation to do so again was strong. She perched up on a fallen palm tree to remove her shoes. The sand and water trickled pleasantly between her toes. She glanced at the water, tempted to waddle in further than just wetting her toes. A glimmer of gold caught her eye. She squinted against the rising sun. She caught a dim outline of something floating in the normally empty strip of the sea. Perhaps it was some debris from another unfortunate ship? At least that's what her mind was saying meanwhile she was already unbuckling her weapons and arranging her possessions under the tree safely where they wouldn't be swept away by the tide.

The sea was calm. She learned how to swim ever since she was ten years old. She hoped to reach whatever it was floating off shore without too much difficulty. Even if her imagination once again had drawn up an improbable scenario, it was worth checking. Once she was past the shallows, she swam on her back to relax and save her strength. Only when the trees grew smaller did she turn to check her progress. She was much closer to her destination than she thought she would be, with a clear view of the two old pieces of wood barely supported by water. And… Even if she had imagined it, she wasn't prepared to see a man slung across them, somehow miraculously holding on.

"Hello," she called out, not expecting a response. Judging by the slumped posture the man was unconscious. "Sir, are you alive?" she tried just in case. He did not respond.

Within few minutes of energetic swimming, she reached him. Not without some difficulty, she dived under and grabbed the slippery wood that kept floating away from her fingertips. At the closer examination it turned out a battered raft that the man was tied to. That made her job of bringing him ashore easier because she didn't have to worry that he would fall off.

Returning to shore was much harder. She had already used up some of her strength, meanwhile the additional weight of the slippery wood kept attempting to escape her grasp, thus depleting her energy quickly. She was tempted to hold onto the man's arm instead to secure a better hold, but she saw dried blood on him and was afraid to cause him any further injury. The sea, however, was on her side. There was a tug of an underwater current pulling her towards the shore until her feet found the ground.

She pushed the raft parallel to the land with the fallen palm tree as her marker. When the raft as last dug into the sand and she could no longer use the water to push it along, she focused on freeing the man. The rope that had saved his life bound him strongly. She nearly scraped her hands to blood trying to find a way to loosen it. Although she was reluctant to leave him even for a moment, she was forced to quickly run to her possessions to retrieve her knife. It was a small tool, not too useful when it came to cutting a rope, but it had to do. It took her painstakingly long to cut all the bonds. She winced in sympathy at the wound where the rope went deeply into his arm. She struggled the most with separating his flesh from the salt-hardened rope. She kept repeating to herself to stay calm, although her fear for the man's life was urging her into erratic behaviour.

The man remained unconscious throughout her operation. But, she didn't believe he was dead. His hand was too warm and his body was not stiff like that of a dead man. However, he was sure as heavy as a tombstone. She forced herself to take a moment to relax and then draped his uninjured arm around her shoulder, and using her back for support, half-dragged him several steps. He was much taller than she was, making her balance precarious. She tripped. The fall was painful. She used herself to cushion his fall.

A shadow fell on them, blocking out the sun. She looked up. Two Tanga warriors stood only a few steps away. She recognised one of them. Toa Ni was one of the leaders who had organised the rebellion six years ago, but Tin Agan had forgiven him on the account that too many had died that day. She threw a desperate glance from her kneeling position at her weapons that were several feet too far out of her reach. The warriors were armed with long spears. Their faces were unreadable masks.


	10. Reborn3

Toa Ni stepped closer to the sprawled out on the sand pair, assuming a position of the spokesman. His companion acknowledged the seniority and stayed back a little, ready to jump into action if Toa Ni as much as made a silent command with the tips of this fingers. He was not missing a slightest movement of either side.

"Who are you with, Rising Sun?" Toa Ni inquired.

The woman was alarmed by the openness of the question. In Tanga speak it held a wide range of meanings from something as innocent as asking for a name of a person who Tanga perceived as your friend, up to a partial threat if he meant to ask why she was found on the beach caring for Tanga's enemy.

"He is a friend. I have been waiting for him to come from the sea." She spoke very clearly, double playing the words just as Toa Ni did. She was telling the truth that she had been searching for the shipwrecked sailors almost every day, but her words also could have been interpreted that this was a man she knew before her arrival on the island. This implied that the man belonged to her 'tribe' rather than being a complete stranger, as Tanga would see it, and thus they would be less inclined to harm him. The Tanga believed in the supernatural, thus an appearance of an old friend by mystical means was not improbable to them.

Toa Ni, however, was sceptical. He studied the pair suspiciously and his eyes narrowed into hard slits. The warrior behind him lifted his spear tip up. It was too easy for them to wrestle the man away from her. She wouldn't be able to stop them.

Throwing caution to the wind, she crossed the fingers of her right hand and laid it on top of the sailor's shoulder.

A minor shudder of dismay ran through Toa Ni. Every muscle of his body froze. In Tanga silent language this gesture indicated a deep attachment, mostly reserved for the family and dearest friends. It symbolised that the person making the gesture would fight to death on behalf of the other. It was used rarely and never lightly because anyone who made this declaration without meaning to follow it through was executed.

Her bluff forced Tanga to think. It was appealing to capture their enemy right under the sea woman's nose, but undesirable having to fight the sea woman to death for someone she had claimed to be her tribe member. He could kill her of course, but his Chief held Rising Sun in high regard and would execute Toa Ni this time with a dead certainty if he killed her. Tin Agan never fully trusted him after the rebellion.

"We will help you carry him to the sea men's village," Toa Ni declared at last to maintain his dignity. It made him look like a hero who graciously conceded to help Rising Sun with a task she was clearly incapable of. He had the last word, so he turned on his heel sharply and headed inland.

The woman did not object, partially glad for the help. She knew that semi-offended warriors will not provide an explanation, thus she mutely allowed the second Tanga warrior to hoist the sailor up on his shoulder. She grabbed her possessions, and hurried after them barefoot, not entirely trusting the Tanga to keep their word.

She nearly bumped into the warrior as he stopped abruptly by the growth line and dumped the sailor onto the ground. "Wait here," he told her, disappearing after Toa Ni.

She trusted that their actions had meaning, thus she focused on assessing the state of the sailor while waiting for Tanga's return.

The man lay on his side awkwardly, just as he had been dropped. Blood stains marred his back. His injuries must have been severe judging by the soaked through naval jacket. He must have had multiple cuts and bruises too, but this wasn't the time to look for them. His pulse was faint. Worst of all, the man was parched. His lips and skin were dry.

She sat down with her back leaned against a tree, and then pulled his upper body to rest on her lap, mindful to keep the pressure off his back. It was an uncomfortable position where he was partially turned away from her. She spilled a bit of water from her flask onto her fingertips and wet his lips. Slowly, she coaxed him into opening his mouth. She poured a small amount past his lips and massaged his throat to help him swallow.

The man swallowed twice and a violent shudder went through his body. His hand flew up. He grabbed the flask in absolute desperation. The woman didn't relinquish her hold, but was hard pressed to keep it away from him. He wouldn't be able to control himself and would choke if she allowed him to drink on his own. "It's all right!" she spoke rapidly whatever came to mind first. "I'll let you drink every drop. But slowly. I'm your friend. My name is Constance. You are safe with me. I will help you drink the water. Please trust me."

It was unlikely that he understood her, but her voice had a calming effect on him. His arm dropped in exhaustion.

"That's good," she praised. "Thank you."

She gave him more water in dozes that wouldn't make him sick.

That's how the Tanga found her later, whispering assurances to her charge.

"Do sea men always talk to the lost souls?" Toa Ni inquired.

She read irony behind his words. "He is not dead," she replied gravely, aware that the Tanga simply wanted her to admit that this man would serve them better as a dinner, then leaving a man who will soon die with her. "My voice will reach his soul and bring him to me."

Toa Ni regarded her with irritation. He didn't like women who argued with him. "We'll carry him," he said with an abrupt gesture to a crudely made stretcher. She realised that they've gone to build one while she was waiting. However, she didn't allow them to treat the man as they have before.

"Lay him on his stomach," she ordered when the warriors tried to move the man. She didn't fully relinquish her hold and helped them lay her charge in the stretcher. She made sure he was as comfortable as he could be in such a position.

Tao Ni regarded her with semi-indifference. When they were underway, the warriors set a swift pace through the jungle, punishing the woman for her earlier impudence. She had put on only one shoe before they took off, but she refused to show that anything was wrong and followed them quickly like it was the most natural thing in the world to walk around half barefoot. Luckily, the village was not far. Not that she minded much being barefoot. In childhood she was more of a wild cat who had frequently abandoned her shoes, until in her teens her proper lady upbringing had taken over. Her childhood tendencies have rapidly re-emerged on the island where it was far more convenient to wear masculine clothes and walk barefoot after Tin Agan had taught her how to avoid stepping on snakes and poisonous plants. Overall, her agility allowed her to keep up with the warriors without much difficulty.

"Oi, Toa Ni," she called out loudly when Tanga turned away from the path into undergrowth, "why are you going around the camp instead of taking the faster route there?"

The warriors ignored her. Fed up with their behaviour, she ran around the group and jumped right in front of Tanga. Toa Ni was force to stop, having nearly run into her.

"I don't like using the road that sea men have cut out through the jungle. It's too open," he offered an explanation grudgingly.

This was hardly the time to play Tanga stealth games. She had to get the man to the doctor as soon as possible. "Surely, for a brave Tanga, there is no threat on that path. You only risk encountering allies who will invite you over to have a drink and enjoy a good shade." She tried to persuade him.

"We have no time for a drink," said Toa Ni self-importantly. "We were busy hunting, and no longer want to be distracted."

At his silent command, both Tanga placed the stretcher on the ground. "May the Spirits be with you, Rising Sun," said Toa Ni ironically before slipping away among the trees with another warrior silently following.

"Savages," she muttered under her breath. Not only did those words mean goodbye but also death. She was unimpressed with Toa Ni continuous implications. She looked down at the unconscious man, wondering how she was going to get him to the village, when she heard voices. It explained Tanga's retreat. The words weren't clear, but she recognised English that was followed by merry laughter. There was only one man who dared to laugh too loudly and freely in the jungle from his first day.

"Edward!" she shouted. "Edward, I need help!"

The laughing stopped abruptly. "Constance?" the man called out uncertainly. "Is that you?"

"Yes! I'm off the path, to your left if you are coming from the village! Come quickly!"

She soon heard loud crunching of the branches and someone unskilfully but quickly tearing his way through the jungle towards her. A man with the burned out, sand coloured hair soon appeared, trailing a liana on his foot. He looked over her dismally. "Constance, what's wrong?" he prompted, not having spotted any injuries. "I thought you were hurt."

"You need to pay more attention to your surroundings boy, rather than seeing only what you intend to see," chided a gruff voice. His companion, a man of a heavy complexion with a thick neck, caught up. He moved quickly as well, but with a greater caution.

"Aye, Captain," Edward shot back. He finally noticed the stretcher and felt like a fool. His blush was visible even under the heavy suntan and frequently sunburned cheeks. "He doesn't look like one of the crew," he offered uncertainly.

"Of course he isn't," said the Captain. "The girl must have fished him out of the water. She is all wet, as you can see."

Edward nodded. His good personality won over his embarrassment. He hurried to pick up the stretcher as the Captain firmly pried the other end from Constance.

"Maybe you can share the tale with us how a Mermaid such as yourself have saved this lucky soul as we carry him to our doc," Edward teased. "Now he must fall in love with you when he wakes up."

Constance bristled. "Stop making jokes! This is serious."

Edward gave her a thoughtful side-glance. It was not like her to get angry. She missed his concern, her attention focused on the wounded man. For an eloquent woman who could always make her point clear, her re-telling of the events was fragmented. She seemed too occupied by her concern to be interested in sharing everything with them.

"I'm going to run ahead to find the doctor," she said, giving up on finishing her story. Why the Tanga left her in the jungle was not that important. "Bring this man directly to the cave."

"I would rather have you stay with us," the Captain protested. He too noticed her agitation and wanted to keep an eye on her. Constance ignored him, and the two men were left with no better option than to hurry after her.

When they've reached the village, Constance already found the doctor. She clung to his arm, giving him an occasional tug, and urged him to go out to meet the party, but Simmons insisted on staying put.

"Bring the patient over to the window," he ordered, as they reached the healing house. It was a contraption, partially located outside and partially leading into a cave. Constance had to release him as he took over the supervision of their patient.

"Captain, please find Mr Reed. I require his assistance."

"Why not mine?" Constance exclaimed. "I have enough nursing training to help you."

Simmons regarded her without his usual sardonic air. "Because, my dear, I have no need of a nurse whose agitated state will do more harm than good here."

Constance went still. She hadn't noticed that her troubled feelings were influencing her so much until he brought it to her attention.

"You are salt-soaked," Simmons continued, trying to take a sting out of his words. "That's not good. I think you will benefit from a brief trip to the waterfall to wash it off and calm yourself. Edward will accompany you to make sure that you will not be disturbed."

"I'll look after her," Edward promised.

She didn't resist when he guided her out. His palm was hot on her back and she shook off his hold irritably. Thinking that she needed a moment alone, Edward fell back a step, and walked behind her like an escort, but he was determined to stay with her.

She felt guilty for snapping at him when he was showing nothing but care for her.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," she offered quietly.

"It's all right. You are entitled to be stressed after using the gesture of protection in front of one of our greatest enemies on this island. He could have killed you easily."

"And then possibly the crew too," Constance admitted. This bothered her the most. "I know that large part of our peace treaty rests on my friendship with Tin Agan. You wouldn't be safe without me."

She paused in mid-step to allow Edward to catch up and walk beside her.

"I know you wouldn't use it lightly, but you should always try all other options first, and perhaps this measure is not necessary even then." There was a stressed tilt of his shoulders as he tried to articulate his concern for her safety, but to show at the same time that he cared about the others too. "Promise not to do it ever again," he said awkwardly, nowhere near being able to explain what he truly meant, but she seemed to have understood.

With him so close and with the guilt it was tempting to make a promise. Yet, even when she could see the bigger picture, she always intuitively acted on what the present moment dictated. She shook her head stubbornly. "I cannot. It must have been foolish to risk all our lives on behalf of a stranger, but I would never have forgiven myself if I had not done all in my power to save him."

"I understand," Edward conceded. They walked in awkward silence until the sound of the waterfall grew near.

"I'll wait for you here," he said, stopping by a thick tree that had split off trucks that formed a seat in between them. The path was turning left where it would shortly lead to the bathing spot.

"Thank you. I will not take long," Constance promised.

"Take you time," Edward gave her a ruthful smile. "I much prefer to laze about in the shade, and pretend to be a hero who protects maiden's honour, than to work on some of the chores the Captain might have in mind for me."

"Well, I just hope you won't get too bored with the chivalrous stationary duty and will not be moved by an impulse, for my safety of course, to come and check on me," Constance jested, feeling more relaxed that he dropped the matter readily and focused on being a good friend to her.

Edward laid his hand over his heart theatrically. "Are you suggesting that I may peek? Doubt not my scandalous reputation that I can get enough women to undress for me as not to be desperate to resort to such a vile tactic to enjoy such a pleasant sight."

"But not this woman." Constance shot him an amused look.

He allowed her to have the last jest. As she disappeared down the path, Edward climbed the tree trunk and perched comfortably on the nature-made seat. His thoughts weren't so cheerful, although he had slipped into his carefree role easily for her sake. He understood why she could not have acted differently, but it didn't mean he could take it lightly. He worried a lot about her, more so than for all the others, even his closest friends. Not that he ever allowed his feelings to surface beyond an occasional flirting. He hoped that no one noticed. He was known as the island's Casanova, who was first to take pleasure with one of the Tanga women, and then repeated the experiment.

It was not that he was madly in love with Constance, but having her near, always so warm, so caring, so understanding stirred his desires beyond friendship. He acknowledged a possibility that he would have been willing to ask for her hand and make a good husband to her. It was easy to think about, considering that she was single. But she wouldn't have accepted. From her first day aboard _Fortuna Minor_, Constance had made her priorities clear. She was highly considerate and friendly. She had quickly earned respect of the men by knowing when to stay out of their way as they worked and when to offer help. The Captain and the crew held sisterly affection for her. But, she made it clear that she was in no want of any other kind of companionship. She wore a black ribbon sometimes on her dress, sometimes on her wrist. Edward realised that it was a tie to the one who held her heart. Realistically, that man must have long accepted her death, must have found new love and perhaps even had kids already, but Constance had her name engraved into her personality. She had never stopped loving him.


	11. Reborn4

She was allowed to see their patient again only after she had a long-lasting swim at the waterfall, was talked into drinking a glass of much cherished and rationed stock of the red wine at Edward's insistence and changed out of her wet clothes into a dress. She could not explain why she was suddenly drawn to a garment she had last worn over a month ago. With her hands cleaned and her hair pinned up she looked presentable.

At least Edward seemed to think so. He was waiting for her by her home, hiding in shade of the wall where it was less suffocating than inside the hut. He bowed low, sweeping his arm side-way with fervent over-exaggeration. "Allow me to escort you, my lady. That is if you will not be ashamed of your much shamed escort whose two months overdue clean up look has been put to shame by your beauty.

Constance smiled although her stomach was in nervous knots. "I don't believe your sudden bout of self-depreciation. Not when it's coming from a dandy who even drew Tanga markings on his face to keep up with the fashion."

"All to impress a lady. What would a man not do to obtain the desire of his soul?"

"If I recall correctly your plan was a wild success."

"It was so until two months ago she decided to kick me out of her hut. Women are such strange creatures, gentle and yet so cruel, breaking my heart so."

"I doubt not your resourcefulness to mend it."

Edward sniffed, feigning hurt. "This is where you should have paid me a compliment and assured me that I am handsome to console me. Your sarcasm, instead, is not fitted for a lady who has the reputation for being most kind."

Constance laughed, giving up. "We can stand here all day and argue. There is no winning a bantering contest against you. I will be honoured to be escorted by such a handsome, although a bit scruffy escort." She accepted his arm with the same flourish that he had demonstrated.

"Always thinking about other men," Edward sighed. "I suppose I must tell you then that Reed had stopped by your home while you were changing and told me about our patient. He informed me that Simmons was nearly done with treating all the injuries and thus released him to his other duties. They seemed to have found some unpleasant scars, but those are fully healed. He had a few wounds and a good measure of hurt. There was nothing life threatening, however."

"There was lot of blood on is back," Constance remembered.

"It came from a fresh scrape that overlapped with an already existing scar. I'm sure the Admiral will be pleased to know that it didn't get infected."

"Did you call him an Admiral? What makes you think so? Does this mean he has regained consciousness?"

"Not yet. I referred to him as Admiral because we don't know his name, whereas the Captain thinks that this man is an Admiral. When Simmons peeled our patient's uniform off, the Captain had examined it. He has an excellent eye for these things. I've never known him to make a mistake. Of course, it is difficult to believe. Reed told me that the man looks no older than I am."

"Some people look much younger than their true age. Maybe this is the case. He might be in his forties. Still, it is rare to rise to that rank before fifty."

"I'm sure he will enlighten us when he wakes up."

"Is it not odd that he is still unconscious?"

"Not at all. He might have suffered a trauma. He needs the time to cope with stress, thus he has blacked out. Simmons thinks that he will soon come out of it."

Unknown to herself, Constance was tugging him along, and Edward complied silently. He was curious as well about their patient, although not as anxious as she was. But, he had to admit, he had never had to fish anyone unconscious out of the water. Perhaps that formed a subconscious obligation to see that person fully recovered.

When they've reached the healing house, Simmons was out in front washing his surgical tools. Edward thought that possibly the wounds were not as pleasant as Reed had described them to be if some cutting was necessary. He had no reason to worry though. With his sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned, Simmons appeared to be at ease, which he wouldn't have been had his patient been in trouble.

Constance too took it as a good sign. "Mr Simmons how is your patient?" she asked urgently as soon as he could hear them.

The doctor, working as methodically as he had prior to their arrival, finished rubbing a blood stain off the blade, stored it properly and only then responded. "My patient is lucky that I will be cutting down a palm tree on Christmas for my hut instead of his arm. There was a danger of infection setting in and an eventual amputation that I have been able to remove. But the rest of this man is as good as it can be expected."

"Ha-ha," said Edward just as dryly. He noticed when Constance flinched and wondered if it would have killed Simmons for once to be less of a git. "I find your sense of humour entirely inappropriate, given the circumstances, but I've never liked it to begin with."

"I find it inappropriate to trail dirt through my, should be clean, healing house," said doctor with a haughty glare which made it obvious that Edward was failing to meet this requirement.

"When can we see him?" Constance interrupted impatiently.

"You, Constance, may see him immediately. Your escort, however, must wait outside."

"Well that's what happens when you go out to hunt, you return with half of the jungle clinging to you," Edward muttered, but he yielded gracefully.

Constance thanked him, but asked him not to wait for her. She had distracted him from his duties long enough.

She followed the doctor through the healing house. The boards creaked lightly under their feet. It was a spacious, well lit structure. Simmons treated wounds and performed operations in the outer part of it. The second half of it was hidden inside a cave. It was a place where part of the crew took shelter during their first days on the island. It was used as a recovery room. The air inside was much cooler, thus the patients could recover there without an additional heat aggravating their state. Simmons frequently hid there during the hot afternoons, even when he didn't have any patients.

Constance paused at the border between the two parts of the healing house, letting her eyes to adjust to the twilight. The cave was shrouded in deep silence, interrupted only by their breathing and heartbeat. It was a highly secluded atmosphere.

"I'll be outside. I must finish cleaning up," Simons informed her.

"Thank you."

His leave made her aware that she very much wanted a moment of privacy. Constance felt that she had established a bond with this man down at the beach when he tried to take the water flask from her. She feared that a third party might somehow interfere and unintentionally break that fragile connection between them. She wanted a moment alone with the man, she considered, carefully making her way along the row of beds.

He was resting on the furthest bed from the entrance. A water flask by the bedside within his reach glittered dully like a reminder. Just as she recalled, the man was tall, nearly too tall for the short healing house beds. The bed was too narrow as well, Constance thought, seeing how the man looked so out of place on it, not quiet fitting in. Partially this impression came from the stress emanating from his clenched fist, the tension of his back, slightly bent knee. He looked like he was expecting to be startled awake surrounded by his enemies. The bed cover slid down, exposing his shoulder and part of his back. After many years of living on an island where accidents happened on daily basis, Constance had seen enough men in all sorts of undignified states, yet the sight of his bare skin was intimate, causing her to drop her eyes, but then she was drawn to look again and admire the strong lines and finely toned muscles, lost in trepidation.

She was nervous because this man was unfamiliar, unlike the crew of _Fortuna Minor_, Constance sought an explanation. She had lived in a secluded community so long that she had forgotten what it's like to meet new people. Nor did he have a chance yet to reveal what kind of man he was, which was enough to make her uncomfortable around him.

His arm hung limply off the edge of the bed. It would surely grow numb if left that way, and he will need it, considering that his other arm was fully wrapped in bandages up to his finger tips. She knelt by the bed to make it easier for herself to move his arm without disturbing him. The floor was hard and cold on her knees. She rested his elbow on the bed and gave his hand one assuring stroke. The limb was too tense, just like the rest of him. More than a little curious, she withheld his hand, seeing that her touch had no effect on him. The hands could say a lot about a man.

This hand claimed that if this man was a commander, which she decided to believe, he was not the type to stand back and give orders. He liked to act and to be involved. A couple of white scar lines, thin as threads, were crossing his hand and patches of skin toughened along the thumb and finger bases told her that this man was no stranger to fighting. Yet, the hands were not calloused or rough, betraying that he was no commoner. They were just as easily familiar with the quill and parchment. These marks made him likable, Constance decided.

She was intrigued by the shape of his hand, the oval palm and long fingers. She turned it, wondering if the rest of it had any more scars. Her sharp intake of breath met the silence. A smile fled from her lips at the sight of a birthmark, neat and tiny, on his thumb. She placed his hand on the bed and adjusted his bed cover nervously to cover him. There was only one other person in the world who had exactly the same mark, in exactly the same spot. James had beautiful hands. She always paid attention to them whenever he was consumed by some task, taking no notice of her watching him. He had never fumbled with anything; all his movements were quick and highly skilled, that she admired so much. Thus, she remembered the mark perfectly.

It had to be a coincidence. She ran her hand over her face to shatter the illusion. Her cheeks were burning hot. This was simply a man of a similar age, the same profession, most likely an Englishman, if the uniform was anything to judge by. His face was obscured by a brown curtain of tangled hair. For the sake of her peace, she brushed his hair aside and leaned closely to study his face, their faces mere inches apart. She registered an elongated face with strong features. A straight nose, a chin with a dimple that was said to betray stubbornness, eyebrows set low, adding to the air of severity. Yet, the face was not grim although strict. His lips were curved in a line indicating that the man did not lack sarcasm and had maintained a sense of humour when need be that came from realising that the world was not a nice place to live in but not worth despairing over.

She missed a subtle change in his breathing. Suddenly, her wrist was trapped in his grasp, and his eyes snapped open – a sea of green. Constance shrieked and tore herself away violently. She fled from his side.

She nearly collided with Simmons who was urged to her rescue by her scream.

"What's happening?" he asked, blocking her way.

"Your patient is awake!" Constance informed him.

"I was under impression that you wanted to talk to him. Why are you leaving?"

She mustered a fragile smile. "I have a personal matter to attend to." The embarrassed, pointed look let him know what kind of matter it was.

"I see," Simmons told her. He clearly didn't believe that she would have rushed off the take care of natural needs with a shriek, but he let her off the hook. "It would be rude of me to leave my patient unattended now that you no doubt were loud enough to awaken the dead."

"You would have been startled too if a supposedly unconscious man suddenly grabbed your arm."

Simmons gave her a mocking smile and swept out of her way. Choosing between the two, the well being of his patient was of a greater concern.

Left alone, Constance fled the healing house.


	12. Reborn5

Philip Gillette or Philip OC?

Hello,

Foremost, I want to thank all the readers for their wonderful reviews. It's good to know that my writing isn't a waste of space. =)

I've been intending to answer this question privately in response to a review, but it's a guest review, and other people might be wondering about this too.

a) Yes. *highfive* It is Philip Gillette not Andrew Gillette; his name is often disagreed on by the fandom.

b) When I was starting the fanfic, I've been intending to use Gillette as the antagonist because people tend to respond better to characters they know rather than to OC. But, as I got into the writing and the chapters formed, Philip's personality developed in a very distinct way. His personality is not how I imagine Gillette in canon. Furthermore, I've realised that the antagonist's place is not to be working side by side with Norrington. Philip's personality is better suited to work for the ETC and to appear as the persecutor in the following piece _Resigned_, thus he would be completely out of the picture for nine years. I prefer to avoid such a strong deviation from canon. I may have changed the detail concerning James' death, but otherwise I dislike having many inaccuracies, especialy as easily detectable one as removing a character from the picture.

c) There is also a question of Gillette being absent in the piece _Lost_, which only reinforces an impression that I am using him as the antagonist. This was a coincidence. According to my research, both Gillette and Groves have died at the Fountain of Youth. With _Dauntless_ being in a wreck with many casualties, I believe either both of them or at least one of them had not accompanied Norrington at that point, otherwise it is rather unrealistic that both have survived to be later present at the FoY. Meanwhile, I needed a character I could tragically kill off. So, Lieutenant Warren replaced one of the known characters. When I was picking whether to keep Gillette or Groves, Gillette struck me as too phlegmatic to fit a role of a man who is itching for a fight with the _Black Pearl_. Groves is more animated and fiery. Plus, Groves is promoted to Captain in canon, a detail which fits into _Resigned_. Thus, Gillette was left out.

d) To top it off, whenever I gave Philip's physical description, I've realised that I'm envisioning a completely different man. Gillette doesn't look like that. Thus, I have unintentionally created a separate character. I tend to think of Philip as OC rather than as Philip Gillette because they don't look alike, and they have different personalities. Aside from the same first name (which was too late to change at that point), there is nothing in common.

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><p><strong>REBORN ch5<strong>

It was a soft touch warming his hand like a stream of sunlight that navigated him away from darkness. It was a completely alien feeling to be held with care that he had long forgotten since his mother's death. The touch brought comfort to his conflicted soul. It was kind. It has been long since anyone had shown him kindness. A butterfly touch ran along his cheek, gentle fingers fluttered down his jaw, and then retreated away from him. Afraid that it will not return, he reached out to regain it. His fingers encountered solid flesh. _It wasn't a dream._ The realisation jolted his mind from the half-unconscious state into reality. His eyes snapped open.

His action was met with a shriek, and a twirl of air as someone brushed past him. He winced. The shriek did not particularly agree with his hurting head. He rubbed his temple and looked around, completely disoriented. The events came flooding back to him. He remembered the Locker and his escape on a raft, but past the impenetrable fog he remembered nothing. Clearly, he was no longer at sea; otherwise he would have felt the rocking motion of a ship. This was land. Someone had found him and brought him to where he was. He was in a hospital; that much was clear judging by the furniture and its arrangement. The room was most peculiar; it was not a room but a cave. That was odd.

There was a water flask on the table. He was horribly thirsty. He reached for it feverishly, ignoring the dizziness and a painful throbbing of his body at his abrupt movement. It was tricky to open the lid with one hand, but he managed quickly. He took one cautious sip, and then gulped down a large quantity. He coughed, feeling like he had swallowed a rock. That hurt.

Someone slapped his back and pried the flask from him.

"Please try to control your animal instincts, otherwise it would be a pain to restrain you," came a dispassionate warning once the worst of his violent gasps have subsided.

James held his tongue and studied the owner of a crispy voice as he regained his breath. The man was of an average height with a slim built that seemed to consist mostly of nerves. His clothes were spotless, so were his shortly cut fingernails. He had an air of authority around him of a man confident that he was currently in charge of his territory. James decided it was best to cooperate with the authority. "I will do my best to follow your prudent advice. I would be loath to inconvenience you, doctor," he ground out slowly, his voice rough from the coughing fit.

His speech earned him a full of scepticism look, like the doctor expected him to betray his promise before he finished making it.

"Patients like you are always of the greatest inconvenience. They hide their injuries and try to shortcut the treatment because they think they know better, thus paying later for ignoring my warnings. I much prefer absolutely insufferable, in the eyes of others, whiners who alert me at once to the slightest scratch, thus I don't have to waste my time on discovering the problem. I can treat them faster and discharge them."

James accepted the reproach, but he was not intending to allow himself to be used as target practice for biting remarks. "I would like to understand what caused such a swift judgement of my character, not that it is inaccurate," he replied neutrally, falling back on formality. It was frequently a secure tactic to use whenever meeting someone new before he learned more about them.

"Thirty five years of practice tell me that a patient who manhandles objects around him before he is fully awake is going to be problematic."

James nodded, satisfied with the explanation. He preferred dealing with blunt men. They never pretended to be any more or any less than who they are. One always knew where he stood with them. It was a radical contrast to Beckett who had always kept his employ wondering whether they were still useful and guessing when their head might be next taken off their shoulders.

"My name is James Norrington. Thank you for saving my life, in spite of your reservations about my character."

"I'm Doctor Simmons, more often referred to behind my back as 'that old git.' I'm not the one who saved your life. I only treated your wounds. You would have lived regardless, although not without some unpleasant repercussions."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Simmons."

Simmons stared at him with suspicion, reading a slight undercurrent of sarcasm in the otherwise perfectly justified responses. "Do you always strive to be so polite, Mr Norrington?"

"Thank you. I believe everyone should be treated with respect unless they have given me a valid reason to treat them otherwise. I certainly make a point to be on my best with your type of people. I shall leave it to your judgement whether it is due to genuine respect or due to my knowledge that nothing will irritate you more than politeness when you are striving to be less courteous than you truly are; a behaviour that you will only be able to justify if my manners digress."

Doctor's lips twitched a little in a glimpse of a smile before he let it fall away in favour of solidifying his point that he will tolerate no foolishness. "I certainly hope you will not irritate me needlessly because we will be seeing each other a lot. We are stuck on a cursed island, ruled by cannibals and inhabited by all sorts of dangerous fauna. We cannot return to the civilization, and there is next to no hope of outside help. Too bad. So sad. Deal with it, and lie down already. I'm tired of holding you up."

Only now James noticed that Simmons had his arm around his shoulders, supporting him all this time. The doctor firmly guided him to lie down on his side. It was an uncomfortable position to continue the conversation, but Simmons pushed him down when he tried to adjust it.

"I would like to understand how you have had the misfortune to end up on the same island as our crew. These waters aren't exactly the most commonly travelled place in the Caribbean."

James tensed; all his ease with the conversation gone entirely. What happened to him was both shameful and unbelievable. If he told the doctor that he had died aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ while supervising an escape of a band of pirates, at best the doctor would assign him a few extra days of bed rest and re-check his head for injuries, and at worst would consider him a renegade. That's exactly what he was, a renegade. Cutler Becket had made it perfectly clear that anyone assisting a pirate was to be subjected to the same punishment – the hanging. He didn't think he could defend himself and explain in greater detail without bringing Elizabeth and too much of the most shameful moments of his life into the picture. What could he tell the doctor? He was a terrible liar.

"I think I would prefer not to hear a story that turns my patient's face the colour of the white sand," Simmons cut through his troubled thoughts. He touched James' forehead, concern making its way to the surface. "I have better make a cool compress rather than interrogate you." He left James' side, giving him a chance to get his thoughts together.

"I apologize for my reaction," said James as Simmons came back. He realised that sooner or later he would have to provide an explanation, and it was better to do it while less explaining was required of him. "I am not comfortable discussing the details of the night that has led me to my current state, but I do believe I must explain. I had been in the employ of the East Trading Company, initially stationed aboard HMS _Endeavour_. The commander of _Endeavour_ had re-assigned me to command an enemy vessel in order to ensure a better cooperation from their Captain. One night the crew mutinied, and I found myself thrown overboard. They got rid of me first. I had a glimpse of a bloodbath that started on deck before I hit the water."

The compress was cool on his head. It was rather pleasant. Doctor's fingers pressed against his throat as Simmons counted the number of his heartbeats. His pulse was too fast, James knew.

"I cannot imagine that such a story makes a pleasant recollection. I have tired you out more than necessary," Simmons summarised, his voice suddenly free of bite.

"No," James said quickly, anticipating an order to rest. "I would prefer to hear how your crew became residents of this island, if it is not too much trouble. Otherwise, I will continue to brood over the subject we have raised."

"If you insist," the doctor agreed. "I'm sure you will hear a better recollection from some of our more talkative members, so I will keep it short. It happened nine years ago. I was stationed as a doctor aboard a merchant ship called _Fortuna Minor_. We were making a race from England to Jamaica. It had been a trouble free race until we were only a few days away from our destination. The wind turned unfavourable, and we have spotted a privateer on the horizon. We had no choice but to go far south. That ship pursued us relentlessly until we ran into a deep line of fog. We have lost the privateer, but also our bearings. After two days of sailing blindly, we have reached this island. The surrounding waters are filled with reefs. It was a miracle that we didn't lose the ship, but we have sustained some damage and were forced to land. We have not been able to chart a safe fairway to navigate out of these waters, and have been trapped on this island ever since. I have called this island cursed because the surrounding waters and always shrouded in fog, making the escape next to impossible. This island frequently feels like it is cut off from the living world for eternity."

Simmons cut his story short as it was having a degrading effect on his patient's well being. The man was showing increasing signs of agitation.

"What was the specific destination of your ship? Was it Port Royal by any chance?" James asked, and was once again given a push to lie down.

"It was," Simmons confirmed.

"Was it under command of Captain Wilson?"

"You are correct, but may I ask how do you know this? You seem very well informed about a ship that went missing nine years ago. Did you know the Captain?"

"I have not met your Captain, but I know about your ship. When _Fortuna Minor_ failed to arrival at Port Royal, we have taken up the search. I was a Lieutenant on _Dauntless_, a ship assigned to investigate your disappearance. But, we have not been able to find you or the privateer who I now realise could have informed us about your whereabouts. We had to terminate the search eventually, after one month."

"You have done your best. Don't worry," Simmons tried to pacify him. "One month is a lot of time for a flagship of the Royal Navy to dedicate to a search of a modest private ship."

"That best was not good enough," James whispered. Yet, the remark about being separated from the living world did not go unnoticed by him. Did he really beat the impossible odds twice in a row and survive or was this fate's way to punish him for his sins? Nevertheless, heaven or hell, he was afraid to ask the next question. "Tell me, please, did you have a young woman aboard your ship."

"We did," Simmons confirmed. A suspicion was starting to nag at the back of his mind. "She is still alive and with us on this island," he added just in case.

"Please tell me her name."

Simmons considered ending their conversation, but there was such a desperate look in the man's eyes that offered the last bit unwillingly, "Miss Constance Brook." He saw a glimpse of recognition, and then his patient slumped in defeat.

"I've died," James informed him. A strained, on the brink of hysterical laugh escaped him, and he smothered it. "I am dead after all."


	13. Reborn6

My Note:

Here is a quirky thing concerning Grove's rank. He is a Lieutenant when he serves with Norrington. Groves is promoted to Lieutenant-Commander post-_Dauntless_. This title puts him in command of minor vessels where he would be referred to as 'the Captain'. However, LC doesn't have the authority to command any large vessels. The position is a cross. I think it goes something like: if the ship has two or less masts, he can command it and be called the Captain, but serving on any larger vessel he can only take on the second in command position. It was advantageous for Philip to exaggerate and say 'Captain' to give himself more credibility. But either way, Groves is promoted and Gillette isn't, which is what I needed for the fic.

Regarding Gillette, I doubt that he is all gloom and doom considering that he went 'LOL XD you're trying to steal _Dauntless_' at a pirate who was aiming a gun at his forehead. Other crew members starting to laugh with him indicates that they are used to him having a whip for humour. Plus that crack at Elizabeth about the mermaid flopping on deck and telling Norrie about the un-dead pirates.

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><p><strong>REBORN ch6<strong>

When Constance gathered her courage to return to the healing house, there was no warm reception waiting for her. Simmons was working on a scar treatment mixture. The greenish powder hissed and bubbled at the contact with a few drops of water. He stirred it slowly with a spoon. Aside from his classical medical education, Simmons had picked up a few traditional healing techniques from Tanga who have been most helpful in identifying beneficial plants to be used in potions. Simmons resembled a shaman among the most unconventional gathering of the items belonging to both English and Tanga worlds.

"How is our patient?" Constance inquired when Simmons completed his ministrations. She waited long for him to finish, not daring to interrupt.

"Lousy. He told me that he thinks he is dead after I've mentioned your name. An old friend of yours, I take it."

"James." She didn't ask. She knew.

Simmons poked the green mixture with a spoon, testing its density, and then began pouring it into a coconut shell. His entire back presented Constance with a wall of disapproval.

"I'm very sorry for not warning you. I've known him since I was ten. I was shocked. I'm still confused as to what I should feel. I am happy that I get to see him again, but the island isn't the place I would have chosen for a reunion."

The doctor seemed to have developed a little grudge against her since her untimely escape. He continued glaring down at the mixture, paying her little heed. "Not as much as he was shocked. I do believe the news that he was stuck on a cursed island affected him less than his childhood friend arising from the dead, or rather he thinks it's a meeting in the afterlife."

"Let me talk to him. I will explain everything," she implored, feeling immeasurably guilty. She never intended to upset James or to cause problems for the doctor.

"I have gone into a lot of trouble to make him fall into a peaceful sleep. You are absolutely not to see him nor disturb him in any way."

"Is there anything I can do for him?"

"His laundry," Simmons informed her unkindly. "His clothes can be saved, I think. We aren't so rich, and the Tanga clothes manufacturing factory is another two thousand years before it's developed as to be throwing them away."

"I'll do it," Constance agreed. She was more than happy to accept the task.

Simmons only raised an eyebrow at her eagerness. He never could remain angry with her longer than a day, but he decided that he should be strict with her a little longer. He handed over the clothes sombrely. She smiled a little sheepishly at him, a pleasantry he didn't return. She took her leave, but she was not going to give up in getting back in Simmons' favour. She would make it up to him. She had a perfect excuse to go back to the healing house to make amends once she was done repairing the clothes.

First she was going to wash everything, and then do the mending. She gathered a tub full of cleaning materials, including the soap. It was Reed's invention that proved invaluable, although it was discovered by accident when he dropped a few oily plants into boiling water. He noticed that the resulting mixture resembled something familiar and kept it until it cooled. The mixture hardened into soap. On the island any gold or finery were far less valuable than items as simple as soap, she considered, as she adjusted the precariously balanced pile in the tub and climbed the steps with it carefully.

She was greeted pleasantly by men as she walked through their village. She didn't stop for a conversation with any of them. They were curious. However, their duties kept them from approaching her. Any out of the ordinary event on the island at once drew the interest of every single person, thus she was sure it wouldn't be long before someone came pestering her with questions.

Constance found a secluded spot, further away from the village. The water was pleasant and warm in the shallow, thus she stepped into it, not bothered the least that her own clothes would be wet too. As set to work, she couldn't resist looking over each item closely, not just to access what needed mending but to get clues on what kind of person James became.

Judging by the dress style, that changed little in ten years, James was still similar to the man she knew. The items bared the same conservative look that had been put together by him in England.

She found a neatly folded handkerchief in his pocket. It was masculine, without any pretence to frivolity, yet not lacking in elegance with embroidered J.N. in the corner. His clothes were made of expensive material, although they seemed to have gone through a long adventure. Some of them were overly decorative for the island, particularly the high ranking officer's jacket with the gold epaulettes.

She remembered entertaining a fantasy once when she was seventeen to iron James' shirts. She did feel it was a bit silly because she wasn't his wife, and the servants had always done that, however, she had a little thrill thinking about it. Ironically, she got her wish, but England and her youth were so far away, a lifetime. It was proof to her that nothing in this world stood on its own. She believed that thoughts had the power to materialise. This is why she always tried to think positively. Everything in the world was an echo of the past, even her returning a late favour and saving James' life similarly to how he had saved her.

It happened nearly twenty years ago when she was ten. She got into an argument with two boys after school. They were discussing passionately how swimming was absolutely not for civilised men, especially not for girls. Constance, who envied them just a little that they were allowed to do many things that she wasn't, told them that they were foolish not to learn something so useful. They made fun of her. According to them, girls weren't as fit to do certain things as boys could, nor could she, although she was weird and not even like a real girl.

"You're a wildcat anyway. Cats don't swim," they threw the last poisoned jab at her. She was outraged that they've resolved to name calling when she thought she made a good point.

Sniffing, she ran from them. She went towards the sea where she always felt at peace watching the waves. Nonsense, she thought, women too could swim. As she observed the calm water, she decided that she will prove those boys wrong. She headed for the water behind the rocks and kicked off her shoes and removed her outer dress. She will learn how to swim.

The water was very cold, but she bit her lip stubbornly, imagining that she will get laughed at more if someone found out that she tried and failed. She was shivering, but kept stepping further and further away from the shore until the water reached her waist. This was deep enough. She will try to swim at this depth, and if she can't stay on the surface, she can always stand up. She tried to remember how the sailors she had seen moved in the water. Constance kicked off the bottom as hard as she could and lunged forward with her arms in front of her. It worked at first with her moving forward due to the force of her initial push, but then she began to sink. She flapped her arms and threw them upwards, but it wasn't helping. Water got into her nose. She choked and figured that this was enough. She tried to stand up. Her foot sunk deep; the water line swept far past her chest and chin, finding no solid surface she could have used to push herself upward. She swallowed a lot of water, the world blinked with many lights.

Suddenly, there was pain. Someone grabbed her by her hair and dragged her up. The grasp shifted onto her neck and then to her arms. She bumped her knee hard on the stone. She realised that she had been pulled out of the deep water and stood up. She coughed very hard. Someone slapped her back. Water poured out of her mouth.

As she brushed her hair out of her face, she finally got a chance to see her rescuer. It was a boy, not much older than she was. His shirt clung to his thin body. His hair was plastered to his temples. His face was very young, yet he was much taller than she was. Indignation surged through her. Lousy boys who thought they were so much better than girls. Her scalp was hurting terribly. This boy nearly pulled her hair out. Couldn't he have rescued differently? Some manners he had! If girls were so delicate that they weren't allowed to go swimming, couldn't they at least be treated nicely, namely not having their hair pulled out and not being called names?

"Well, thank you so much," she said aggressively, jerking away from him. "But I didn't ask for your assistance." More than anything she wanted to go back to the bank and jump around so she could warm up, but her pride didn't allow it. She lifted her chin up proudly and turned her back on the boy and waddled back into the deeper water. The boy stood gaping at her, which was hugely irritating. "Why are you staring at me? It's inappropriate to be staring at a half undressed girl."

"Maybe so, but you are heading for the same hole that you have just fallen into," he told her. His voice was awkward. Most of the words still carried childish intonations, but there newly forming, ringing notes slipping into his speech. "This isn't an ideal place for swimming. You need to be careful. The bottom in this area slopes down steeply. You might be standing waist deep in the water and the next step may be way over your head."

"Maybe I intend to swim over that hole this time," Constance challenged. She was embarrassed that she stupidly went towards the same trap.

The boy mulled it over seriously. It looked like he wasn't trying to make fun of her, which cooled her temper somewhat. "You are holding your hands wrong," he told her. "You need to hold all your fingers close together and your hands need to follow in circle away from your chest. It's called breast stroke."

Constance regarded him suspiciously.

"I'm not making this up," he insisted. "I'll show you." Smoothly, he pushed off, similarly to how she had done it earlier, but unlike her he didn't sink. He swam past her, doing as he said earlier. His movements were deliberately slow so she could learn from him.

She tried to follow his instructions and swallowed a mouthful of water. The boy grabbed her by the dress and held her up. Spitting out the remainder of the water she detected his poorly concealed smirk.

"Are you laughing at me?" she asked indignantly.

The boy in response grinned openly. "Maybe a little bit at your stubbornness. However, I do not find your attempt at drowning yourself entertaining. Drowned corpses aren't pretty at all. They're all blue."

She stepped away from him glaring daggers in his direction. "I'm taking measures precisely so I don't drown some day. I have no intention of turning blue!"

When he laughed, she gathered water with her entire arm and sent a large wave towards him. It was her turn to laugh when he tripped while trying to dodge the splash and fell backwards. He recovered quickly and retaliated.

They have played around until both of them were nearly blue from cold. James somehow had managed to avoid catching his cold, but she didn't. He came to visit her, concerned for her health, and they were friends ever since. She had nagged him into teaching her how to swim, of course, after she was healthy again.

Constance was smiling fondly in recollection. He didn't just save her. James had given her confidence to learn things she didn't think she was capable of. He never made fun of her when she wanted to learn something new, even if his opinions were not the same as hers. She tightened her grip in the wet garment, daydreaming. She didn't notice when someone approached her, and watched her for a bit before speaking up.

"Where is the lucky owner of the jacket you are hugging so tenderly?"

Constance jumped and dropped the jacket. She slipped and nearly fell face first into the water. "Damn you, Edward! Have you any idea how much you have frightened me?"

Edward grinned without a bit of remorse. "I know exactly how much I've frightened you."

"Why are you here?" she asked defensively.

"I'm only the messenger. As the idlest community member, I've been sent by the Captain to find out about the Admiral. All of us are curious, you know."

"Why not address your questions to Simmons?"

"He bites."

"Well, I have currently earned his displeasure, which has put me on a list of those banned from his healing house."

"Can you not earn his forgiveness?"

"Even if I can, best of luck to you, try him anyway. I'm not telling you anything." She had nothing she wanted to share yet. She wanted to find a semblance of peace before subjecting herself to the numerous questions of the entire village. The life on the island was rather dull, aside from the constant dangers that became so intertwined into daily life that they were no longer seen as anything abnormal. Besides, Simmons was the only one who had spoken with James, an opportunity she wished she hadn't missed. She should have stayed with James when she had the chance.

Edward pointed at the wet pile of clothes. "Do you want help with that?" he offered.

"No!" trying to explain her quick rejection, she added, "Nice try, but try a different trick to weasel the information out of me."

Edward sighed. "You spend too much time with Simmons. You can scowl just like him, but I think it endears you only further to him. If he is angry at you, maybe you can offer him some kind of bribe to reduce his displeasure. But, I am at a loss what you might have done to invoke it in the first place."

"I might have infringed on his professional ego," Constance half-confessed. Edward did have a point. An idea came to her. "I can bring to him a bottle our wine. He will forgive me and let me see James."

"And where will you get some?" Edward began, but then stopped when she gave him an expectant look. "Oh." Constance never wanted any of the drink for herself, thus she never had her share, and only few people were trusted with rationing it, Edward included. It was a darn shame to waste a merry drink on a sour man like Simmons who would be sour after it anyway. Too bad, he had no choice.

Constance smiled at him pleasantly, and Edward's feet on their own went to the underground hold where they've kept the wine supplies hidden.


	14. Reborn7

Note: Avast! The following few chapters will be unapologetic Norrington excuses. Sail with me.

Please ignore my shameless robbery of Kant's philosophy. Constance has been on the island in 1730's, whereas Kant published the _Categorical Imperative_ in the 1780's. It doesn't mean that no one could have held a similar opinion prior to him popularising this view. If anything, *points at the PotC script writers* they started it.

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><p><strong>REBORN ch7<strong>

The bottle of wine had worked spectacularly, and Constance was granted permission to visit their patient. Simmons had forgiven her regardless, but he withheld that information as not to discourage any future bribes. He had excused himself, having no desire to be the extra man at the reunion.

Constance tiptoed to the cave entrance, assured that James was awake, and peeked inside to prepare herself. She expected that she would be shy, and lost for words, but the sight that was so much in his character made her forget her reservations. She bit her lip to suppress a giggle. Simmons' patient was very much not asleep, and from the looks of it he was trying to escape from the healing house, or at least from the confines of his bed. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, clearly not sure of his footing, but calculating the distance to the next place he could reach and grab onto to keep his balance. Just as he gathered energy to test his luck, Constance foiled his attempt.

"I shall have to inform the doctor that there is a mutiny abroad against his orders. I believe you've been told to rest."

His head snapped up. His lips tightened, as much as his grip on the edge of the bed. He recognised her. There was a hurricane of thoughts, but none he could form into words. This woman was the same height, with the same halo of brown hair set in chaotic disarray, the same long neck and fragile shoulders. As she slowly approached, he noticed the subtle differences in her. Her walk, still graceful, no longer resembled a thoughtless flight of a butterfly. Her hands were no longer as animated. The youthful disarray of energy was replaced by calmer, more focused movement. Yet, she still glowed with vitality and spirit. She had to be real. In fantasies, the people you knew always appeared unchanged, as you remembered them, but this Constance was older, not that extra years had left any significant aging marks on her. She perched beside him on the bed and wrapped him in a hug. Her breath caressed his cheek. He was enveloped by her scent; she smelled like tropical flowers.

"Don't be silly, James, of course I'm alive, and so are you," she informed him. She pinched him rather hard to prove her point, and he gasped.

"Oh, so I get to hear your voice after all. But you can do better than that. It's rude to be silent as a rock in a presence of a lady."

"It is an unforgivable oversight on my part, my lady," he informed her gravely, but his smile gave away his amusement. With ceremony, he raised her hand to his lips. His lips were still dry. Their touch was rough, but true and in perfect accord with their circumstances. "Regardless of time and place, I am ever delighted that you are willing to grace me with your company."

"As am I glad for your company, although I am sitting on something uncomfortable."

"It must be the comb. Mr Simmons had informed me that my physical appearance is much to be desired. However, I am no masochist. It would be easier to shave my head than to pull all the tangles out with one hand."

"I believe it was his intent to keep you occupied, than a true hope that you may succeed."

"His subtle plan has failed. Not that his point about my appearance is invalid."

She pointed out a fresh cut on his face. "It looks like you've made some progress regardless. You look better without the stubble."

"I don't like beards. They remind me of an unpleasant time in my life."

His words were sad. They created the tension and silence between them that she so strongly wanted to avoid.

"I can comb your hair for you," Constance suggested.

Briefly, he looked uncomfortable. She held her breath, wondering if he thought her too forward. They haven't seen each other in ten years. Perhaps, their previous history together had long lost its hold. It was akin to rediscovering the familiar territory and reclaiming every bit of former trust. It was difficult for two people who have seen hardship and have been disillusioned.

"I will be grateful for your assistance."

She motioned him to turn around. His hair was a true mess with pieces of seaweed entangled into the strands. She was uncertain that she could get them all out without cutting his hair. But, she was determined to avoid doing that. She remembered that he had never shaved his head, even further in his career when his station had required him to wear a wig. "I won't lie, last time I've seen such a hairball was when we have fished a drowning kinkajou out of the water."

"Thank you heartily for the comparison. I can imagine you combing the fur of a wet and most likely resisting creature." He winced as she pulled the worst of the seaweed out. "I hope it didn't bite you."

She didn't want him to worry that something had bitten her three years ago. Last time she had an injury, he fussed over it five times longer than it took to heal. "Why do you ask? Do you feel like biting me?"

"Certainly not, but had I such an inclination, I would think twice due to your doctor's threat to subdue me should I fail to control my animal instincts."

"Simmons can leave a lasting impression. He is a good man."

"Indeed, and he is the highest professional in his field, and a perfectionist, I believe."

"I'm glad that we agree."

James' assessment of the doctor was accurate. She was glad that they were getting along. Simmons left few people indifferent to him; people either disliked him strongly or held him in highest regard. She wanted James to befriend the doctor. In fact, she wanted everyone to like and befriend James too. The crew of _Fortuna Minor_ was dear to her, and so was he.

Once she got the foreign objects out of his hair, the rest was much easier to do. She was working slowly, and began to enjoy the challenge. James was too distracted by their conversation to take notice, although he was vexed that he had to sit with his back turned to her and kept trying to turn around. He asked a lot of questions about her life on the island and about their community.

The village they have established had fifty two men, almost the entire crew of their ship. Only several of them have died over nine years. At first, they have opted for living on their ship. They didn't trust their treaty with Tanga, and had hoped that the fog might lift. When the first proved stable and second impossible, the physical needs forced them to build shelter on land. It was easier to hunt, and make use of the resources the island could offer if they didn't need to be carried over to the ship so frequently. Bit by bit, all of them moved to the island, although some like her still looked to the sea with hope. There were many events, some sad some amusing. Constance wasn't complaining, mostly focused on what brought her contentment, although James had guessed part of what she was not telling, the hardships, especially in the beginning when the environment was alien to them. Listening to her voice was pleasant, but he wanted to look at her, as if her touch and voice weren't enough.

When he tried to turn once again, she didn't stop him. She was almost done. He began to look somewhat presentable, at least by the island standards. Some of his hair hung loose around his face, and fell into his eyes. He brushed it away, annoyed.

"I have something to secure your hair," she told him.

She had the black ribbon neatly tied around her wrist that she was removing. He reached out to help with the knot. Her wrist was so slender and her hand so delicate. He remembered the day when she first ran her palm along his cheek, and the ribbon she had taken from him.

"You have kept it?" he asked in wonder as she brushed the offending strands out of his face and tied them back.

"Yes, and now I can return it to you since I have you back."

"I'm sorry, I have been unable to keep your present," he confessed quietly.

She must have remembered the same night because she stroked his cheek, but then dropped her hand like she had been burned. "It's all right. The cufflinks are very small and easy to lose."

"I didn't lose them," he assured her. "They were too important for me to lose. I have traded them to save someone's life or so I hoped that I would."

"That's very noble of you. You've done the right thing."

As always, she assumed the best of him. James didn't know why he deserved such faith. This is why he always told her the truth, and this is why he couldn't leave her with a false impression of him. "I am not a hero of that story," he confessed quietly. "My role had been rather pitiful." He shied away from her, but Constance couldn't let his remark go when he was degrading himself. Her arms came around him. She pulled him against her chest. Her palm slid down his back to the line of bandages, felt through the borrowed shirt.

"Allow me to be the judge of that. I have little trust in you giving yourself a fair trial."

"It's a long story. You won't like what you will hear, providing that you'll believe any of it."

"You forget that you are speaking to a woman who had published the book of sea legends. Some of them were very unpleasant, but I believe that many of those narratives are true. I am able to see the good in them that was there."

He wanted to tell her regardless. Should his story push her away, it was better to do it before they have re-established their friendship, although Constance was very fast in returning everything as it used to be between them. She was going to pry every detail, so it was best to tell her everything. "I suppose it began on the day I've been promoted to Commodore. It happened somewhat over a year ago at Port Royal. The Governor had insisted on staging a grand ceremony."

"You were still working at Port Royal!" Constance interrupted happily. "That Governor seems like a man of a good character for making you to agree to a public demonstration. Did he really arrange a splendid ceremony?"

"Which one of these exclamations should I address first?" He was thrown off track. Her interruption changed his mood. Her smile was giving him a feeling opposite of what he had felt when the events took place.

"Tell me about the ceremony first."

James sighed. "It was over the top. I was paraded through an alley of raised weapons to a platform where I've been presented with my new sword. Port Royal is not England, and sometimes life there can be dull. The Governor was in favour of offering the citizens an occasional entertainment."

The memories were unpleasant for him, but it was impossible to sulk with Constance near. She allowed him to detach himself from the events and see them through her eyes. "Unfortunately, the ceremony did not end well as we have intended."

Constance sensed that he was preparing to tell her something that was heavy on his conscience and waited quietly. James withdrew from her again. He clasped his hands together and looked away. She knew that body language. He did that whenever he felt guilty.

"Governor Swann had approached me prior to the ceremony. The conversation was about my feelings for his daughter, Elizabeth. When he had pried a confession from me that I fancied her, he hinted that an initiative from me would be welcome. After the ceremony, I have taken Miss Swann aside to raise the topic of courtship and matrimony with her, but had not been able to give me her answer. It was a hot day and she had trouble breathing due to her restrictive attire. She had fainted and fell from the battlements into the water."

"Did she survive?" Constance was no longer smiling.

"She had been rescued; unfortunately by a man of a dubious reputation. I have intended to jump after her, but one of my lieutenants had stopped me and pointed out that there were rocks below. By the time we ran around to the docks, another man had dived after her and brought her to safety."

Constance was no longer interrupting him, and James ventured a side glace. She was mirroring his posture, looking down at her clasped hands.

"Constance?"

Their eyes met hesitantly, bearing no lies. "Does it hurt you that I have proposed to a different woman? Although we have not had the time to explore our feelings, I believe more than friendship had been developing between us before I've left England. It was a lifetime ago, but it must be unpleasant for you regardless."

She smiled, thinking fondly that it was just like him to find the courage to address the issues that would have been tempting to avoid. She didn't want him suffering unnecessary guilt, even if she wanted to shout that she still had those feelings. "Yes, it hurts a little, but I would have been far more upset had you, believing me to be dead, wasted your life in solitude. I would have felt terribly guilty and would have been more miserable. I am awfully envious that Elizabeth got to see your splendid promotion ceremony and had been proposed by a fine man, but I suppose I can forgive her due to our mutual suffering from the corsets." She was a little amused by his earlier explanation. Far it was for James to talk about lady's undergarments.

He was still unsure that she was all right. Constance smiled brightly at him and reached out to re-establish the contact. "So, tell me, when did she give you her answer?"

He seemed relieved that she wasn't too upset. She realised that he didn't change in this aspect. He was not good at reading women. Sometimes intuitively, sometimes logically he figured out that a woman could be upset or happy, but he didn't distinguish between their subtle changes of moods. He relied on women to tell him the truth, and he had to trust that she felt indeed what she said she felt. Constance locked away any dismay she felt at the mention of another woman James had romantic feelings for, unwilling to spoil a good moment with him.

"She hadn't been able to until she went through being rescued and consequently threatened by a pirate, captured by un-dead crew of skeleton pirates, used as the blood sacrifice by them."

Constance was paying undivided attention to him. Her enthusiasm upon hearing about the un-dead crew and a pirate ghost ship was endearing. She could never resist adding another story to her collection. "Quit smirking and get on with your story," she huffed, "unless you are teasing me."

"I assure you, they were real cursed pirates, hiding a cursed treasure at the secret island called Isle de Muerta. It could only be found by those who had been there before, thus we had to make a deal with a man of a questionable reputation, Jack Sparrow, to get there."

"You are scowling. Was he truly such a bad man?"

"The worst pirate I've ever seen."

She was hanging on to each word. James wanted to make up for upsetting her by bringing up their former relationship, thus he told her how Sparrow had captured the _Interceptor_.

Constance was laughing and he was scowling when he finished, and that caused her to laugh harder. "Don't be so harsh on a man who was trying to save himself. It isn't exactly easy to do when an entire guard of the port is looking for you."

"Leave it to you to sympathise with a pirate," James muttered, but his indignation was only half-hearted.

She was, however, making it very difficult to be bitter. James reflected upon a saying 'What goes around comes around.' He had mocked Sparrow about his lack of a ship in order to call himself a Captain. The fate had played a joke on him by making him a Commodore with only one ship to command, when his rank demanded at least two; although, _Dauntless_ was worth ten ships ten times over.

Constance's eyes sparkled like the waters of Caribbean on the sunny day when Jack Sparrow got away. Something clicked. James, at last was able to appreciate the humour of that situation. There was no more embarrassment as he let it go. Perhaps that was what he needed, a person who could cast an outside judgement on the events that bound him so strongly; someone who could be fair and kind, like Constance, who was quivering with curiosity.

He told her the rest. He had made many mistakes; as difficult as it was to admit, even mistrusting Sparrow's plan to wait aboard _Dauntless_ for the pirates to come out. Fewer men might have died that night. Had he another chance, he would have done everything differently. He had been a fool. Meanwhile, Constance listened and drew her own conclusions.

"Misfortunes befalling a man do not make him a fool. It is how he handles them that does or does not," she told him after he described Sparrow's successful escape from the gallows. "Knowing you, I believe you haven't slept in three days post the attack on Port Royal because the town had sustained damage and rebuilding efforts had to be organised, because there were wounded who had to be placed somewhere and taken care of, because dangerous prisoners had escaped from jail and they had to be caught and returned to their cell. Then you were planning the most efficient search route for Elizabeth, had a goal to bring back the _Interceptor_, and attempted to find Jack Sparrow. You have achieved all those aims with the exception of bringing back the _Interceptor_, but I'm confident you would have secured her too had she not been destroyed. I do not believe that a fool can accomplish all that."

She waited impatiently as he took in her perspective. "However," she teased him gently, "you are being a little foolish by thinking so lowly of yourself. You have even saved Mister Turner."

"I didn't want to save him. I have been offended that after the devastation the _Black Pearl_ had wrecked on Port Royal, he was willing to join the pirates, having seen the violence they were capable of. Elizabeth's passionate defence of him reminded me that I had no right to play favourites. If I went out to rescue her, I had to extend the same favour to him. Otherwise, my earlier words that I serve others would have been hypocritical. I didn't think I could look in the eyes of a woman I wanted to wed without being reminded that I haven't done my duty."

"It wasn't about what you wanted to do, but about what you had to do. People for whose good actions there is no reward, are those who act most morally," Constance told him. She was sure that he had not been expecting a reward for saving another man.

"Yes," he agreed, shamed that he had yet to tell her the worst part of his story. It was the exact principle he had abandoned when he got carried away with the pursuit of the _Black Pearl_ and betrayed God. "I have to tell you…" he began only to be interrupted as the doctor joined them.

"Examination time," Simmons announced loudly. "All visitors must abandon the premises."

"I can help!" Constance exclaimed.

"Absolutely not. We have discussed this already. You are too partial to be his nurse. Not to mention, had you been looking at Mister Norrington, you would have noticed that he has gotten embarrassed by your proposal."

Constance looked at James who, in fact, was caught out with a slight flush colouring his cheeks.

"Out," said the doctor.

"I'll come back to visit you tomorrow," Constance promised. She hesitated, wanting to kiss his cheek, but Simmons shooed her away.

Evidently, there were no secrets in her community. Constance didn't get far from the healing house before the Captain joined her. She regarded him wearily. It was becoming tiresome that everyone expected her to be the mediator.

"Do you know when Simmons will be releasing the Admiral?" he asked her. "The crew is eager to know when they can meet him. They've been pestering me with questions about him sunrise to sunset. Edward sharing all and every detail of what he knows, and telling it in an over-exaggerated style isn't helping. We were thinking that maybe we can have a party once he is out at the hospital with everyone present."

"I don't believe James will be comfortable with the notion. He never liked big parties, at least not in the past. But, I'm sure he will see the practicality of this idea. As for Simmons, you know better than I do, nobody can put pressure on him. He will release James whenever he sees fit."

Her reluctance was lost on the Captain. "I have full confidence that you will be able to give us a warning," he told her.


	15. Reborn8

As the party day came, James was nervous. Not that he held large social gatherings in poor esteem, or at least he was used to them because his station at Port Royal had demanded that he followed the etiquette. But aside from his promotion ceremony, none of the events had been centered on him. Constance was trying to hide it, but a few slips in their conversation revealed that she wanted him to make the best impression. He didn't want to disappoint her.

James felt relatively well. Foremost, he was glad to be released from the healing house under the disapproving eye of Simmons. Constance had assured the doctor that she wouldn't allow James to do any work. The following few days would be used to show him the village and the island. He was given the freedom and a chance to clean up properly. There was only so much he could have done at the healing house. The wound on his back finally allowed him to bathe and thoroughly remove the reminders of his visit to the Locker. He felt like a confident human being again rather than a haggard victim of the sea.

James saw his reflection in the mirror that Constance had put him in front of when she decided that he needed help with the preparation for the party. There was little to consider in the choice of attire, but he simply enjoyed spending time with her regardless of what she was doing. She circled him adjusting his collar and smoothing invisible wrinkles out. He made no complaint that she might be getting carried away. After all, he had survived her doll tea party, even if he had puked on her carpet as a result of her first experiment with the cupcakes; the event was memorable enough to be shuddered at seventeen years later.

The mirror twinkled at him at the recollection. There was something new in his reflection belonging to a man reborn. A hint of mistrust with the gifts this new world had to offer, and yet he was more relaxed than he had been in years. His lips were set in a relaxed line the corners of which tipped just a little upward whenever he was able to appreciate the irony of the circumstances or a witty remark. His attire was almost the same, yet to his satisfaction the man in the mirror resembled very little the Admiral of the East Trading Company.

James had been told that this was a formal occasion, thus he had worn his jacket. After Constance had put so much effort to repair it, it would have been ungrateful not to use it. He might have felt a bit of resentment for the innocent piece of material that was a link to his servitude to Beckett. Perhaps, he could rip off the epaulettes and the excess of gold later, since it wouldn't be practical to throw it away. In the end he put his faith in Constance, letting her guide him through the preparation and then through the village.

As the bonfire came in sight, Constance felt that her warning to James had not been satisfactory. The Captain had sworn to God that it would be a relatively quiet affair to ease her friend into their community. The grandiose layout was nothing but illustrious. The zeal and the amount of work put into planning exceeded her expectations.

A square was chosen in front of their mess hall. They have gathered a bonfire at the centre and surrounded it with logs. The men sat around the fire enjoying the drink and conversation as they waited their turn to be introduced.

She didn't remember the time when the entire crew looked so polished. All of them have shaved or trimmed their hair and beards. Their clothes were cleaned and pressed. All of them wore their sailor uniforms that looked surprisingly in place and even elegant in their setting. The Captain had even polished and worn his medal.

She had to admit that she too was guilty of overdressing. She had worn her best gown, and fashioned her hair with emerald hairpins. They were taken out of cargo hold long time ago and presented to her by the Captain, who thought that no one expected to see that cargo again. Their value was lower by far on the island than in England, but the pins were beautiful. They shimmered mysteriously in her hair like fireflies.

Captain Wilson approached them first. He had met James in the morning and volunteered to act as the mediator. Edward came with him. Wilson chose him to accompany them due to the man's unmatched conversationalist ability. The young man, when he was presented to James was unnaturally reserved and hardly made any jests. James quietly thanked him and the Captain.

James was introduced to every man. Some of them had saluted him. He couldn't remember them all, but he remembered a good number, having practice in commanding large ships and the port, James had a good memory when it came to faces and names. He was dismayed that many of them addressed him as the Admiral. He never told anyone what his rank was. Even Constance only heard about his promotion to Commodore. He finally asked the Captain.

Wilson never gave his ability to read people much consideration. "Personal observations, and your uniform partially. I don't know if the markings might have changed, but I can certainly recognise an Admiral when I see one," he replied vaguely.

James looked embarrassed, and Constance snickered, unsuccessfully hiding her amusement in her hand. James shot her an annoyed glare, but then composed a serious look.

Constance understood why they got a little carried away with the ceremony. The British held vast dominance of the seas. Their Navy was the best in the world. Their sailors were the defenders of the proud nation. Serving their country was a great honour. There was much patriotism attached to the Royal Navy - patriotism that perhaps was less important at home than it was to the men bereft of their home, when losing something so important had made it so much dearer. That, and Constance had to admit that James, even without any additional finery like a neck handkerchief, looked very much the part. Not that he was consciously aware of it. He looked fetching in the uniform. He wasn't trying to attract praise, but he accepted it with good grace. His manners and natural behaviour commanded respect.

Certainly, his rank was impressive enough for everyone to give it the deserved consideration; however, she hoped that his kindness, courage and intelligence wouldn't be overlooked in the shadow of his station. James was in awkward situation with everyone except perhaps Simmons, who had informed James that he looked terrible for a healthy man but decent for a recently near-dead one, as a way of greeting. This was turning from quietly welcoming a new man to their village to worshiping their honourable and very important guest. Constance was waiting with a hidden satisfaction for James to fix that misconception. Knowing something the others would overlook in him made her feel that they were sharing a closer connection.

The misunderstanding was cleared when the introductions were over, and the Captain announced that they will be moving indoors. The men, cheered by the drink and the atmosphere with much shuffling and laughing adjourned.

The normally plain mess hall was difficult to recognise. The tables were covered by colourful cloths. There were fruits and flowers decorations, and even some of the silverware had been brought out. The lamps were lit. Night butterflies fluttered around them, casting graceful shadows about.

"Please take a seat, Admiral," said the Captain, pointing to the head of the table. There was something in his pronunciation of the rank that has made it clear that this was the reason for their celebration.

"Thank you, Mister Wilson," said James. Constance recognised that tone, a notch apologetic yet determined to overrule any nonsense. "But, I am merely a man who owes his life to you. I insist that my treatment should hold no privilege over others only due to my rank. We are currently on land rather than on a ship in the service to His Majesty where subordination is a necessity. I have no pretences for leadership. These are your people, loyal to you. I very much respect that. I believe this place belongs to you. However, I would beg one indulgence. I would appreciate it if you would concede to call me James," he spoke confidently and loud enough to be overheard by others in the room.

Wilson thought is over carefully. "Agreed, but I insist that today you have this seat because it has been prepared for you, and on a condition that you will call me John. All these youngsters calling me Mister, makes me feel a thousand years old."

"It is an honour that I will gladly accept, John."

They've settled into a comfortable conversation. James, although he had left England before they did, was a fresh source of news from the outer world. Everyone who sat near enough was listening intently. Particularly, they were interested in the newest invention called the chronometer. They could hardly believe that a new device appeared that could establish the East-West position, thus allowing the long distance sea travel to be far more extensive. They've all agreed that Harrison was a genius who revolutionised the Age of Sail. James was pleased that he had secured such a new, handy gadget on _Dauntless_. Then he sobered as he remembered that her remains were at the bottom of the sea. He changed the topic and withdrew from the speaker's role. The conversation branched once he had done so. Constance was overhearing different bits, but she kept track of James' conversation with the doctor who was telling them about his career.

"I've amputated my first leg when I was seventeen," the doctor narrated enthusiastically. He was not a gossiper, but due to his keen observations and brevity, he was an engaging speaker. There were no extra details nor too few when he described the picture. "It was badly mauled by a cannon ball. I had to use the saw to severe the joint. The pool of blood was an inch thick."

"Some of us are trying to eat here," Edward muttered, turning green. Not that it slowed his pace any at emptying his plate, which the doctor pointed out. The two of them with a relish of two enemies got into a debate that no one else could insert a word in.

Wilson used that opportunity to ask James one thing that was on his mind all day. Everyone was in on this plan. The mess hall was not the only place they've been polishing clean. "Admiral, I've been wondering if you might be willing to examine our ship, that is if you do not have any plans for tomorrow," the Captain suggested a little too eagerly. He looked like he didn't mind going right now, but the propriety suggested he should wait.

Constance smiled openly, not that anyone was paying much attention to her. But of course, they were sailors through and through who have missed the sea and the Navy. Even if most of them have never served in the military, they all shared the heroic notions of it. James' eyes light up at once. The plan was most agreable. Grown men have their toys too, Constance thought in amusement, but she was glad that James found something he would surely enjoy.

"I gladly accept your invitation to see her. I am pleased to hear that you still have your ship. Due to the stories I've heard about the dangers of navitaging though the reefs and the fog, I was inclined to assume the worst for which I apologize."

"We've been fortunate. It is only the fog that is keeping us trapped. We have a ready ship to return home should it lift one day," Wilson replied. He wasn't offended by that assumption.

"I'm sure you will get your wish."

"I'd like to toast that," the Captain announced. A canteen of local rum went around in circle past them, and he stopped it. John poured a glassful share of rum and set it in front of James.

The scent hit James hard and made his stomach turn over. He clamped his mouth shut. He realised that he should be politely declining, but he was trying to force down the nausea. The air was thick and heavy, intensifying the scent that reminded him of filth and the pig den at Tortuga.

"James, what is it?" Constance instantly picked up on his illness. She grew alarmed when he didn't move. "Is the party too much?" she asked, thinking that he had barely been released from the healing house.

"Should we step outside?" the Captain offered.

As James nodded, the Captain informed those who sat near him that he'd be borrowing the Admiral. Constance, under guise of holding onto his elbow, motioned him to stand and guided James out.

It was dark outside. The fire was all burned out. James took several unsteady breaths.

"I apologize," said James. He felt that he had to offer an explanation for his inadequate reaction. It was only a drink that had unsettled him so. "There was a dark period in my life when I've had a problem with alcohol. I have lost a ship entrusted to me. I was forced to resign from my post. For a few months, before I could go back to trying to rebuild my life, I've lived the most disposable life, drinking and mingling with the worst lot. I've been trying to escape the nightmares, but only pushed myself into living in one."

It was difficult to confess. Constance was still holding onto his elbow. Why he didn't withhold that part of his life, he wondered. It was private. The world gossip could not reach the island, so they wouldn't have known unless he told them. He didn't have to ruin his reputation with these people who genuinely seemed to like him. They genuienly wanted to befriend him. He didn't have any friends ever since he had been forced to resign, and perhaps he had lost them earlier during the pursuit of Sparrow.

"Sounds familiar," said Wilson. "When I was only eighteen, I've been put in charge of a fishing boat. How proud that had made me. There were four of us aboard. One day, we had more ill luck than catch. The evening was approaching and the wind was picking up, but none of us wanted to go home empty handed. I've given a command to sail to a different spot instead of returning to port. We have underestimated that wind. I am the only one who survived."

"I'm sorry. It is a grave loss."

"I was sorrier - still am. Drank myself into stupor three days in a row, then my mom found me and gave me a trashing I still can't forget. She said that it would be dreadful ungrateful to God to drown in alcohol after He had saved my sorry self. But she was wrong, she is a woman and not a leader, she doesn't understand like we do. I didn't feel sorry for myself, I felt sorry for Jeremy's family who had a widowed mother and four sisters younger than fifteen. That's the hardest part, living when they died and accepting that I was responsible that they no longer lived. But my mother was right in a different aspect, God is merciful. We were spared death so we could redeem ourselves, not so we would suffer."

James nodded mirthlessly. He had to live at least three hundred years to redeem himself. "There were nearly nine hundred men stationed on the _Dauntless_. Only twenty seven of them have survived."

"It's not the numbers, it's the principle that counts; that, and the known fact that at sea taking command means walking hand in hand with death. In military, men are not considered for a promotion to Lieutenancy until they have killed a man in battle. Thus, they would know the importance of life, and how serious it is to send someone to death."

"I remember that this was the test when I have been promoted to Lieutenant," said James. "It was a hypothetical scenario where I had been given a few options how to save the ship, but it was simply designed to prove that the only correct option was to sacrifice one of the men who could save her. All other options would have resulted in a disaster."

"Disasters are part of this life; otherwise what would test our integrity? There are reports of ships being lost at sea every month, due to the natural disasters and human errors," said Wilson.

"I understand that I am not the first to lose a ship. I have lost men before under my command. Once the battle is over, it is easy to claim that more could have been done, when in reality all those actions have been dictated by circumstances. No more had been done because I have done the best with what I knew at that moment. But, there is one primary difference. All those times I have been thinking about the others, whereas aboard _Dauntless_ that day I've had personal matters influence my decisions. I cannot claim selfless motivations. Integrity is exactly the test I have failed."

The Captain didn't turn away from him. He put his hand on James' shoulder and squeezed it compassionately. In his presence lay something relentless and commanding, like he was the one sent to carry out the role of the emissary.

"The world would be a terrible place if it didn't forgive an honourable man a mistake that he deeply regrets," he said.


	16. Reborn9

Note: 12 knots = 22km/h. Super fast ship speed for the 18th C.

* * *

><p><strong>REBORN ch9<strong>

It was a beautiful day when the _Fortuna Minor_ just like the princess released from her dreary tower sailed around the island. Perhaps, she lacked a true grace of a noble lady, but she was no less loved and taken care of. Every inch of her had been polished and sparkling. Constance discovered that the deck had been most suspiciously scrubbed clean. It looked like the men weren't done playing the Admiral game. So, that's where all of them have disappeared to earlier, to get the ship ready for the 'inspection'. She had to admit it was a good cause to take the _Fortuna Minor_ out of the bay, instances that Constance had never missed. There wasn't enough space to sail freely, but on clear days the crew had carefully sailed across the narrow sea streak to ensure that the ship continues to run smoothly and doesn't suffer damage because she hadn't been used.

So far, their trip was exemplary. Almost everyone was present, a certain doctor being the exception. Simmons had resolutely stayed behind.

"You will crush the ship into the rocks. Then you will have even less hope remaining to get off this cursed island," he told them before they set off.

That comment didn't go well with Edward. "Why doctor, is that a glimpse of optimism I detect? Are you trying to keep the ship in once piece because you have hope one day that the fog will lift and we will be free from our current accommodations?" he asked most poisonously.

"Certainly not," Simmons parried. "I am merely expressing concern over my limited stock of bruise salves and calming tea leaves that I'd hate to spend on a bunch of very sad people."

Constance pulled the pair apart by reminding Edward that they had to go. There had been no further arguments. The atmosphere was cheerful. Captain Wilson had spent most of the time showing James his ship than giving orders, a task his first officer had inevitably taken over. As much as Constance was amused by their interaction, men were absolutely impossible in their forth on about the sailing. At times she didn't understand what they were talking about. They have completely forgotten about her.

"With a favourable wind, the _Interceptor_ could reach up to twelve knots," James was telling the Captain with his back turned to Constance. Wilson thought that James was exaggerating because the fastest ship had been the _Aurora_ who went only as fast as eleven knots, and it was unlikely that the ship building would advance that much.

Constance felt a pang of unjustified irritation. Her mood dampened. She observed James subtly, thinking more and more that she still had no idea who he was. Granted, he had shared something very important with her, but she had no idea how he had lived his life far away from her. Did he ever think about her all those years? She never confessed to the emptiness and sadness she had been hiding that had re-emerged as she watched him speak with the Captain like they have long been friends. Unwilling to spoil the good mood, she left the pair to their discussion. She went to a quieter spot at the fore where she could listen to the whispering of the wind in peace and arrange her thoughts.

James never had found a moment to continue his story about how he had lost her gift. She trusted he had good reason. There was one line that gave her hope that he hadn't forgotten about her. _They were too important for me to lose._

She knew that she was being unreasonable. Trifles, she decided, giving her head the stubborn shake that had accompanied her all her life. She had to cheer up before anyone noticed that she was sad. There was one thing she had long wanted to do, but always feared that someone might stop her. Today she wasn't wearing a dress, so her plan to sit on top of the railing could be done. It would be a bit daring and liberating to watch the waves splashing against the hull below her feet.

The railing was tall, thin and shaky, and definitely not built for her planned designation, but once decided she wasn't going to back away easily. She secured a hold onto a cable and got her feet on top of the railing. The cable was stretched too high to help her hold her balance to sit down. She stood there puzzling out the matter.

"Constance?" The familiar voice was very gentle in calling her name as not to startle her. It made her heart tremble. "You have disappeared, thus I came looking for you."

She was still a little cross, and her position was not letting her turn around. "What about the Captain?" she challenged. "I hope you've given him many compliments as I've never seen this ship in a better condition."

"I have done my best to do this ship justice. I hope I have not been rude to the Captain for having to abandon him when he was showing around, but I wanted to be sure that you are all right. I am sorry for forgetting that our theme was not appropriate in the presence of a lady."

"I'm sure he won't mind if you are concerned for my well being," said Constance.

"I am rather perplexed to find you in your current position," he told her carefully. His first instinct had been to rush over to support her, but he had forced himself to stop a foot away. She looked steady enough, and he knew that she didn't like whenever someone was interfering. He had to respect her independence.

"I am ever grateful for your concern, Admiral," she told him, no longer even a bit angry. James often used to tell her that she was always smiling. It was true to some extent that she was positive, but she smiled the most when he was near.

"Why does my title amuse you so?" he asked suspiciously. He was relieved that she had forgiven him so easily if she was planning to tease him.

"I've heard how the others are referring to you. I am glad that you are building friendships. I think the Admiral is no longer your title. It is becoming your nickname."

It was a welcome insight on the opinion of the people she knew so well. "What a shame that my title doesn't intimidate you, and I have ever so planned on using it to order you to remove yourself from the railing," he informed her ironically. Not expressing his concern was impossible, but it had to be less forward. It was not his intent to control her every step.

"You may, as a gentleman rather than a commanding officer, assist me in sitting down on this railing, but I surely have no intention of abandoning my post yet," she invited.

His arms came around her waist. She released her hold on the cable, trusting him not to take her down on deck, but to ease her into a sitting position. It was more uncomfortable than she had thought with little grip and a precarious balance. James must have thought the same. She didn't see his face, but sensed his conflict. He couldn't release her. She leaned against his chest, thus settling his inner debate.

It was peaceful. She could feel his speedy heartbeat and the warmth of his hands. It was something she had dreamt of to have him hold her and steady her on earth while they were surrounded by the wind and the sea. "James, do you remember that day when you were preparing for your first voyage? We went to the cliffs and dreamt of the future."

"Yes." He remembered how he had been divided between wanting to go and knowing that he would miss her, even when he was only fifteen. He also remembered that he had the same feelings whenever he was planning to leave her yet again.

"What do you remember?" she prompted.

"Everything."

She turned around, and found him leaning down. His lips were lingering only a breath away from hers. Various emotions swirled in the depths of his eyes. Tentatively, she touched her lips to his. His grip on her tightened, bringing her closer, yet his lips remained closed. She released him and turned away, resting her head on his chest again.

"I'm sorry," she told him.

He never moved. His breath caressed her cheek. "Don't misunderstand me. I feel something for you. But, I have a lot of negative feelings that need to be resolved. I don't want them to taint our feelings."

"You are trying to protect me from yourself."

"I wish I could assure you, but I don't know myself. Most of all, I don't want to hurt you."

He must have been speaking about his mistakes of the past, but there was another reason she feared. It was true that Elizabeth had chosen another man, but saying that he was letting her go was not the same as fighting his heart. His heart had to release that woman first.

"I will ask nothing of you that you cannot give. Another woman hurt your heart, and she is still in it. I will wait for your heart to heal, but I can help you heal if you will take my help."

He understood. He was an intelligent man. "I have not been able to tell my heart to stop loving Miss Turner at once, but a year is a long time for the ache to drift away slowly as a tide." It was the truth. He had given up Elizabeth the night he had died for her. He would tell Constance about that night soon, but not yet.

"I am not so low as to try lowering a worthy woman you've loved, James. I realise that you will care about her and her father even if there are no longer any romantic feelings for her in your heart. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable talking to me just because you will think that I will disapprove. I will not."

"Thank you. I do not blame Elizabeth for wanting to save Mister Turner's life. I understand that when you love you are willing to give your life and honour to save him or her. However, I have been hurt that she didn't trust me. After I've given an order to head for Isle de Muerta, I have taken Miss Swann aside and asked whether her feelings for me were sincere. I would not have gone back on my world. I would not have turned the ship back had she confessed that she had no romantic feelings for me. We were no strangers. I had hoped that she knew me a little better than that. Unfortunately, she didn't trust me enough if she feared to tell me the truth."

"It was shame, not the lack of faith in you that had kept her from sharing her true feelings. She must have struggled like any decent person would. When we love, our feelings for that one person blind us to the rest of the world. We understand it logically, but in reality very few have enough courage to confess when we are in the wrong, even the most courageous rarely can tell the truth without some kind of emotional preparation."

James didn't answer. He was going to deal with it on his own like he always did. She knew it. His world view of right and wrong had been completely mutilated, yet he felt that he had no right to complain because he thought he was in the wrong. It was his mistake to pay for.

"Don't punish yourself so much, James. Allow yourself to grieve. You too have been wronged. Forgive yourself and those who have misused you."

He didn't believe Constance, although he wanted to think that she was right. Elizabeth had not trusted him enough. That night on the _Flying Dutchman_ when she had accused him of murdering her father was the proof of that. This was a huge difference with Constance who always assumed the best of him. This was a woman who always had faith in him.

She felt his lips on her neck for one brief instance. She read this gesture for what it was his gratitude for her understanding.

He held her, both taking comfort in their closeness. "When did you become so wise," he whispered.

"Oh, I've had help," Constance chuckled. "I know a very wise man."

"Who might that be?" he inquired. "The good Captain I suppose."

"Better," said Constance, anticipating his shock when he will learn the identity of her teacher. "His name is Tin Agan. I think he will be highly interested in meeting you."


	17. Reborn10

"I treasure your love  
>I never want to lose it<br>You've been through the fires of hell  
>And I know you've got the ashes to prove it<br>I treasure your love  
>I want to show you how to use it<br>You've been through a lot of pain in the dirt  
>And I know you've got the scars to prove it..."<p>

– Jim Steinman

* * *

><p><strong>REBORN ch10<strong>

Constance was true to her word and decided to acquaint James with the Tanga Chief the very next day. James had been most surprised to learn about the alliance with the natives, as he had never heard of one made before by anyone because the natives across the Caribbean were unanimous in treating all visitors with the open hostility. Constance explained that the treaty was unstable and used her rescue of him as an example. James might have been grateful, but he was angry that she had risked her life for him. Thus, their evening had ended in a bitter disagreement. To say nothing he would regret, James went home, or rather to the hut he was sharing with Simmons.

When he had been released from the healing house, it was a question where he would live. Majority of the crew lived in huts with four to six people in each; however, Simmons needed to be closer to the healing house and occupied a separate hut alone. Surprisingly, he offered to share his home with James who had given this gesture a deserved appreciation and agreed. It was the doctor who had noticed James' foul mood that was disturbing his own peace, thus forcing him to interfere to neutralise all the pacing and grumbling, although mostly other's affairs were none of his concern. With the ever present realism, Simmons explained briefly to James why he was an idiot and kicked him out of the hut the next morning to apologise to Constance.

The reconciliation was easier than James thought it would be. Constance wanted to speak with him too, but she wasn't sure that he had gotten over his anger and was willing to listen to her. Guilt, when James realised that she had slept poorly that night, had contributed to his attempt to understand her point of view better. They went to the mess hall together where Edward's jokes have dissipated the tension between them. However, James still didn't feel that everything was back to normal. Their trip to the village was taking too much of his effort and attention as not to trip, get tangled in or step on something unpleasant, to start any serious conversation. He was trying to memorise the faint outlines of the paths that were completely invisible to the untrained eye.

He was not yet used to the jungle and felt like it was a threat to him. He followed a step behind Constance, keeping her back covered. He admired her grace and ease with which she passed through the jungle. The undergrowth of flowers and lianas was yielding easily to her like a court of loyal subjects to a queen. A small part of him wished, however, that she might run into an obstacle where he could offer her his assistance. Armed with her own long knife and pistols, she hardly looked like a lady in need of protection. James wondered how skilled she was with those weapons. He trusted her to point out at first the traps in the new environment.

The sword entrusted to him was a comforting presence on his hip. There was nothing fancy about it. It was a well made sword that would serve him truthfully in the dangerous environment. James was touched that Captain Wilson had allowed him to choose the one that used to belong to a crewman killed in the Tanga rebellion. _Fortuna Minor_ was never a military ship, thus her weapon arsenal was limited. Plus, there were numerous attempts by the Tanga to steal their weapons.

It was Constance who noticed first that they were watched by two warriors who were guarding the path that lead to the Chief's hut. She raised her arm high and turned her palm inward as a standard greeting which meant that their visit was peaceful.

James inwardly berated himself for failing to notice them earlier. They could have been killed had the savages been more aggressive. He could tell that Constance was not entirely at ease either, but her tension ceased and she smiled as another savage appeared on their path out of nowhere. Only one branch on their left that swayed once and went back into place gave away where he had been standing.

The savage was short and skinny, reaching just above Constance's chin. His face and torso were decorated by the white and blue patterns that almost entirely covered his dark skin and effectively hid the deep wrinkles and signs of his advanced age. Yet, he moved like a large cat that could still outperform many much younger opponents.

Constance addressed him respectfully in his native tongue. James was able to distinguish only the name, Tin Agan. This was her mentor. However, James detected no welcoming signs in the savage's countenance.

Even when he was younger, Constance had never seen the Chief come out to meet his visitors. He was always busy either at the village, and when he got older he stayed in is hut with his fire and rituals. He was claiming that he had felt his death's soon coming and wanted to ask the spirits for guidance. He wanted to pass on the last bit of wisdom and direct his tribe to the best course before he was gone. Tin Agan did not respond to her greeting, thus denying her permission to proceed any further down the path to his home.

"The spirits have warned me about your coming," he answered her unspoken question instead.

It was a puzzling response. Chief's moods were difficult to decrypt. Sometimes he felt like playing the guessing games with her, forcing her to come up with the answers herself, but he also had a habit to be cryptic with his enemies. She became weary of his strange reaction and was reluctant to translate their conversation.

"I want you to meet James," she tried, thinking that she had rarely brought anyone with her, and perhaps the Chief had taken offence to her initiative to invite James. No stranger had ever entered his home. He had always met them elsewhere first.

"I don't want to know his name," Tin Agan cut her off abruptly.

"He is my friend," Constance challenged just as firmly.

"He will not be mine, and I don't want you to be his. He has shadows about him."

Constance inwardly berated the Chief for his vagueness. Why couldn't he ever just state in simple terms what was bothering him so she could alleviate his worries. She had been most tolerant of this habit in the past and spent much longer than necessary talking to him to understand what was on his mind, but speaking with his on the path with the armed tribesmen nearby was different than calmly sitting with him by the fire. She could only guess that his visions have shown something about James' past, and some vague sign had alarmed Tin Agan. "He has told me about his past. I fear no shadows. I will make them leave."

"He is hiding more from you. I want no part of it," Tin Agan insisted. She knew him too well to think that his demand had been made on a whim. The Chief was a wise man who had thought his every word and action through before presenting them. The more puzzling was his agression where he was unwilling as much as to hear her out.

"Are you making me chose between the two of you?" she asked him in disbelief. It was not like Tin Agan to make such a serious demand, but his response was relentless.

"No. You are the one choosing."

It was not just a matter of choosing one friend over another. Constance was always aware that the peace treaty had rested on her friendship with Tin Agan. In anger he could start a war. But, she also suspected that the two warriors were present on purpose. Tin Agan could have chased away the unwanted visitors by himself. If she announced that James was no longer her friend, she suspected they would try to upper hand him.

"I will not be able to choose you."

Her response was made quickly, without a bit of hesitation. This woman meant much to him, the bitterer was his disappointment. Tin Again reached Constance in one large leap. He wanted to ask her again, unwilling to believe that she would betray him. James stepped in between them. Tin Again looked up into his eyes. He had never seen such an eye colour before. It was unnerving, especially since the sea men always avoided meeting his eyes, whereas this man looked at him openly with a hint of a challenge.

"I may not understand what you are saying, but I do not approve of the tone he is taking with you," James told Constance.

Tin Agan drew back like he had been struck. His face contorted in anger. He was not used to be defied such.

"Do not come here with this man ever again!" he exclaimed. "Tell him that I will order my warriors to kill him on first sight if he approaches the village!"

"Please, give him a chance."

"No! Leave!" He pointed at the pair, shaking in fury. "Make them leave!" he ordered the Tanga.

James reached for his sword as the Tanga aimed their spears at him, and Constance grabbed his arm, aware that if he drew his weapon the fight was guaranteed.

"I still want to be your friend, Tin Again," she said quickly. "I will come asking your forgiveness when you are not as angry." She drew James away from the Tanga with her. The warriors followed them until they were far away from the village and then went back to report to Tin Agan.

Constance didn't have a plan where she was going. She was upset and simply wanted to walk off some of her negative energy. Intuitively, she went to the shore. The sea always had a calming effect on her. She had lost her elegance and simply pushed her way through the jungle, thus getting her foot tangled up at one point and nearly taking a fall. James caught her. She stopped passively, making no move. James gathered her into embrace and held her to his chest. She was shaking.

"I'm sorry that I've caused a discord between you and your mentor," he said guiltily. "I should have been more diplomatic.

Constance shook her head, seeing through his transparent lie. She didn't want him taking responsibility for what wasn't his fault. It didn't matter how James had acted because Tin Agan was against him before they've met. "It's not you fault. I have never seen him react so, not that he favours the outsiders as a general rule."

"I have an impression that I've frightened him somehow." He understood what pride was for the men in charge. They weren't allowed to show fear, but those emotions had the potential to be expressed as anger.

"Maybe he had seen something about your past. Tin Agan has the sight."

James didn't respond. After witnessing so many unbelievable events, he had remained a sceptic. He had accepted the cursed pirates and the _Flying Dutchman_ as facts, but that didn't mean that he would suddenly become gullible and start believing in magic and prophesies. He became more open minded to supernatural, but he had to be given proof to believe it.

Constance, however, was far more willing to believe in the most unrealistic possibilities. The security of the embrace had removed all extra fears and hurts from the encounter. She was able to recall their meeting clearly and think over details she had noticed but haven't analysed. She quickly began putting the pieces together. "He was looking at you like he had seen a ghost. He spoke about shadows. I wonder if he meant death. You told us that you've been thrown overboard by the mutinous crew, but how you came to be tied to the raft I've always wondered." James tensed. She was too close to miss the subtle change in his breathing. She must have touch on something important, thus she continued that line of thought, unbelievable as it was. "When I was mending your shirt, I found two holes. Mr Reed told me that you have two scars in the same places. Those aren't the type of wounds that would heal quickly. It is a strange coincidence, I think."

James remembered his death vividly. Now, he had no doubt that it had been a sure death, and not a guiltless one at that. He had died having betrayed his employer and to some extent who he was, having taken the side of the pirates. He imagined that night was an approximation of what Hell was like that he will be haunted by. Constance saw his dismay.

"James, what are you concealing? Did you lie to us?"

"No," he denied. "But, I haven't told you everything. The ship I've lost control of was the _Flying Dutchman_. Those scars were fatal," he confessed. "I have died, but my soul didn't go to Heaven or Hell, it went to Davy Jones Locker."

"Hush," she whispered, laying her palm on his cheek gently. "I believe you. I have always believed you."

"But, you want me to tell you everything from the beginning because what I'm saying is too disjointed," he replied with a hint of a smile.

"Yes."

He told her everything. He spoke about how he had taken the heart of Davy Jones, thus unwittingly settling his score with Jack Sparrow. How he had been adrift at sea with the Heart. When he had a task, all his resourcefulness had been aimed at achieving his goal. He remembered the rush to find Lord Beckett before anyone had a chance to rob him of his prise. The doubts came later after exchange had been made. At some point he had lost himself. He no longer knew who was right and who was wrong. He revealed all his doubts to Constance, once more finding endless understanding and merciful judgement in her.

"Elizabeth had asked me to come with her, but I knew all along that I can never become a pirate, even if I have been forced to join them at some point in my life. But, had I been cast back to civilization I wouldn't have know what to do. I can no longer serve the Navy if their objectives have become so mercantile and inhumane. I can never place gold and power above human lives. So, where is my place in this world? I no longer know. Perhaps I should have died if I belong nowhere."

"Don't say that," Constance whispered. She laid her hands on his shoulders. Her words were slightly muffled as she pressed her cheek against his heart. "You would still serve in the Navy because this is where your loyalties are. Your place is at sea because this is what you love. Not every Navy ship is dishonoured, not every Navy ship fights for the same goals as the East Trading Company. If you command one, then yours doesn't have to be like them. If you have the power to command, make sure that you represent your country how it deserves to be represented, with justice and dignity. Then, no other man will be able to ruin that good reputation. You cannot control the world, but you don't have to succumb to its vile temptations. You can be a good man regardless. This is why you have taken the Heart, to revive that aspect of yourself. You are a good man, James."

Was it truly so simple? He didn't think the darkness in him could be explained so easily, yet he sensed that Constance was right in defining his priorities. He was not avoiding responsibility for his actions, but what reasons did he have not to take the Heart. Jack Sparrow and William Turner were not dear to him, and he felt no obligation to assist them in getting what they wanted. Beckett was resourceful enough to get the Heart regardless of whether James would have helped him or not. The reign of terror that had been unleashed where so many have been hung on such slim suspicions would have happened because the East Trading Company was gaining political and economic power, regardless of whether they've had the Heart or not, although the Heart had spend up the process. They would have been using the same brutal tactics. He had been caught in the middle of it all, but at least he had enough courage to leave. Perhaps, in the chaotic world it was never about choosing a side but staying true to his principles. They've defined him as a good man, at least according to Constance.

"Being a good man," he told her slowly. "I suppose that is a meaningful enough reason to live. That's what I have today, then."

Constance smiled at him, but there was a different inquiry in her eyes that went beyond offering comfort. "And you have me to remind you."

"Yes. I have you," he repeated gently. He had her to love. He had her to give him redemption. He had her to believe in him. He had her all his life in his heart even when he thought her dead. He had her to cherish and kiss.

She shivered in pleasure when he placed a ghost of a kiss on her lips. It was so gentle and entirely not intrusive, like in a dream, except without the painful awakening where he would disappear. Their lips touched again, melting the years they have been apart into nothingness. Their kisses were unrushed, each longer and sweeter than the previous one. She trusted that he was not seeking absolution in her. He had made it clear that he would never use her to heal himself nor would he kiss her without love just out of gratitude. This had not been planned, happening earlier than he reasonably would have allowed himself. He had yielded to his feelings, just as she yielded to him, following his every move, leaning into each touch. Once she lured him into abandoning thought, there was nothing to stop their passion from leading them to a place where they've shared each breath and each kiss like it was their first and last, not keeping track where one ended and another began, and being lost together in the whirlwind of the new sensations with just the trees and the sky above them.


	18. Reborn11

Notes: We've been having an intriguing discussion with Rose and Psyche about the 18th century ships, even with the library books involved. (If you are interested, you can read The Age of Fighting Sail by C. S. Foster and The age of the ship of the line: the British & French navies, 1650-1815 by Dull, Jonathan R.)

I believe there are number of people who are wondering about the sizes and speeds of the ships, so we've made a chart with the beneficial information. This one is on HMS _Dauntless_. If I don't get lazy, I might do other the ships too.

Name: HMS _Dauntless_

Type: ship of the line, first-rate

Speed: 3 – 9 knots (17 km/h maximum)

Crew: 565 sailors, 200 gunners, 130 marines

Guns: 100

Displacement: 3520 tonnes

Length: 68 meters

Sails: 6525 yd sq (5456 m sq)

Travel time between Jamaica and Tortuga: 1 – 2 days

* * *

><p><strong>REBORN ch11<strong>

Steel rang against steel. The ground crunched underneath four pairs of feet that stepped forth, retreated and changed pace, engaged in an endless dance-like cycle. It was a good spot by the mess hall, nearly at the centre of the village. The stones marking the bonfire have been removed, and with some further minor adjustments it had been turned into a suitable sparring ground.

It was their third match, thus their movements have lost some of their agility, the sweat trickled down the fighter's backs, and a few clumsily received scratches were stinging. One of the men let out a curt oath as he was flung on the ground and the tip of the sword tapped against his chest. He regarded it sullenly, refusing to admit his defeat.

"Well fought," John complimented from the sideline where he had retreated, having lost in the first minutes of the match.

The sword with a final glint disappeared in the sheath replaced by a hand, offering the help up without forcing the opponent to admit defeat. Edward accepted it reluctantly just so he wouldn't seem like an ingrate.

"I cannot believe we have lost again," he commented. "Surely, at least some of us are proficient enough with the weapons to make a good competition." He considered himself to be quite a warrior, and in truth had performed the best out of the three opponents who have faced James, but the military training had proven to be far more reliable than the numbers.

Their sparring had been instigated due to their conflict with Tin Agan. The villagers didn't know whether their alliance with him was over. Captain Wilson had seen it fit to prepare for an attack, however, the following few days have passed peacefully. James had a discussion with Wilson about what kind of tactics they've used to defend against the natives, which admittedly wasn't much, considering that most of the crew had no military background. Inevitably, their discussion had reached James' experience and his swordsmanship. Edward had asked James to demonstrate a few moves with the blade or rather challenged him, to which James had suggested that it was best if he was set against more than one opponent. Edward had regarded that as arrogance, but after he, Wilson and Reed have been beaten repeatedly he realised that it had been a most realistic assessment. Wilson had asked James to teach the crew how to use their swords more efficiently. James was glad to be of service. He had agreed and was already planning the morning training sessions.

"This isn't the same as plucking stray birds out of the branches on one of your famous hunts," said John, clapping Edward on the shoulder in a friendly manner to take a sting out of his words. "Which, my stomach agrees, is too an excellent skill."

Reed chuckled, "How true, this prey is a little bigger and more aggressive."

"I prefer the role of the hunter than being the prey," James commented dryly. "However, had this been a hunting contest, I'm confident you would win it. I was hardly ever in a position where I had to catch my dinner."

It was all about the practice. Hunting required much stealth and knowledge of the prey habits. It required a set of skills entirely different than fighting people. Edward nodded, but a small part of him was still resentful.

"I believe we should continue the training another day," said James.

"Surely, you aren't afraid to get beaten at last?" Edward jested.

"I'm counting on it, hopefully sooner than later, but today any further exercise will only leave you sore."

"It might be too late for my backside," Reed commented.

"Let's save the rest of you then," John replied.

Without planning, all of them headed for the waterfall. After spending a couple of weeks in the village, James was aware of the layout and was thinking like the majority of the crew. The waterfall was one of their favourite places. The seclusion of the spot and the beauty of the water cascading over the rocks always brought a sense of contentment. They've cleaned themselves properly and settled on the bank, quite enjoying the relaxation the water and shaded sun brought to their worked up muscles.

"It is almost peaceful enough to forget all our problems," John commented, taking a seat beside James.

"I have," James admitted. He regarded their surroundings calmly, taking in their forgotten weapons that have been carefully stacked aside. There were intangible threads of freedom in the atmosphere of the island that allowed him to drop his guard. He was barefoot, and his shirt collar was thrown open. "I don't believe I have ever behaved so informally before."

"It isn't a fault to want to behave more frivolously when the occasion requires," John mused, tilting his head back just slightly as two humming birds chased one another past his nose in two colourful blurs, free as the wind. "Sometimes we are so concerned with what is proper that we forget to live."

"I am learning how to relax more, and rather enjoying the experience," James said. The conversation with John always came to him with ease and made it easy to be honest about his feelings, perhaps because they've discussed the _Dauntless_. After that, everything else felt trivial. "Sometimes the heat is even provoking me to seek a nap somewhere cool rather than do any work," he added ruthfully.

"It is liberating," said John with a little more guard as if deciding whether to reprimand him for the sake of Edward who was eavesdropping or to accept it as a good joke.

"I almost do not want to leave this island," James confessed, surprising even himself by the revelation made on the spot. He had to admit that he had felt a dead weight around his neck in the Beckett's employ and his existence had long become tolerable rather than enjoyable. On the island, he hardly worried about anything.

"Spoken like a man who has no ties at home," John noted. James was well read and aware of the happenings in the society, which he gladly shared with him, but he was not forthcoming about his background and family. John wanted to know more about the man, but was too considerate to insist. "Forgive me if I'm prying."

"You are correct. I have no one who would be waiting for me," said James. He was saddened by the reminder of his father who had never waited for his return home in all those years, and didn't want to bring up all his unpleasant relationships with his family. "But, it is you who must forgive me. You must miss your family."

John accepted his silence. He had joyful memories to share that he loved to talk about. "I want to go home because mine is as beautiful as a rose garden. I have a wife and three daughters in England, perhaps no longer, but surely had. I loved spoiling them. It's a real pleasure to return from the voyage to find your family waiting. My girls were so little. They've always hugged me and checked my bags for treats. I've always brought something for them. I wonder how they are now, and who is taking care of them. Perhaps my wife had found a new man. I wouldn't blame her since it is difficult for a woman to raise her daughters all alone, but I'd love to see them again regardless of how much they've grown. My older daughter might have found a suitor already. She will be eighteen this summer. My family is the most important reason for me to live and to wish for my return home."

"It's difficult for me to envision," James confessed. The entire picture seemed warm but too much like a fairy tale. "My mother died when I was young. I have no siblings. But, I think I understand the pleasure of seeing the loved one after a long voyage. Before I have been reassigned to the Caribbean, I had Constance waiting for me."

"She is a wonderful woman," John added eagerly. "Beautiful girl, and I certainly know what I'm talking about. She is clever. She can handle herself admirably when the situation calls. Have you heard how she plays her flute? The birds go quiet just listening to her music."

"Captain, I do believe you are trying to play the matchmaker," James noted not without amusement. It seemed that the island decided to keep their kiss a secret.

John laughed. "I am. By our standards she is long a spinster, but the term simply doesn't apply to her. Yet, I daresay it is woman's calling to start a family. I don't want it to be too late for her. She hadn't shown interest in any of my men, and who knows when we can get off this island. Even if we did, she would go to see her parents first, rather than thinking about herself. She never said so, but I believe she feels guilty for leaving her parents. She would have wanted to make amends to them."

"She had never told me that," James recalled with an alarm. He wondered why Constance had never asked him about her family. In truth, he had nothing to tell her. He had written a letter to her family after having done everything he could to find the _Fortuna Minor_, but they've never responded to him. He knew even less about them than about his family.

"She never complains about matters of her heart," said John.

"Regardless, you believe that it is her dearest wish to be reunited with her family?"

"It won't be possible," Reed interjected. "Only that old savage she is friends with knows how to get rid of the fog, but he will never tell her."

"Then someone else needs to ask him," said James thoughtfully.

"We've tried, but I've never met a more elusive man in my life. It's like he knows what is on your mind and hides long in advance. He hardly comes to negotiate, unless there is something serious like an uprising. He lets his elders do it. I have been to his village a few times, and his hut is always guarded."

The atmosphere was losing its tranquility. James hadn't intended to imply that they haven't tried all the alternatives to return home. He didn't want to discuss the topic with them further. "In this case," said James with a mock graveness, dropping the former subject. He got up and bowed to John like he was in court before the King. "I am ready to commit. Captain Wilson, I trust you are willing to perform the ceremony."

"Excellent," called out Edward from his spot where he lay listening to their conversation. "We'll prepare the crocodile moat."

"I beg your pardon?"

"As you understand, Constance is a special woman. We cannot just give her away. You must prove yourself worthy of her. Perform a few heroic deeds, get across the crocodile moat, and then we will consider your request," Edward clarified eagerly.

"And there I thought you would ask for something unreasonable," James drawled out slowly.

He continued the banter in a mock tone, but one thought stubbornly lingered at the back of his mind. Tracking down one elusive savage on the small island surely could not be as difficult as tracking down Jack Sparrow in the vast reaches of the seas.


	19. Reborn12

There were days when the wind brought a faint trail of smoke from the Tanga village when the drums rolled and the savages performed one of their wild dances around the fire to worship one of their deities. Today was one of those days. James interpreted it as a good sign that his mission would be successful.

He left early morning, grabbing his sword, neglecting his breakfast and tiptoeing past the doctor's room to avoid any unnecessary explanations. He didn't want to instil any false hope in anyone nor, as it would be the case with Simmons, hear how lacking in common sense his plan was, a fact James was trying to ignore.

He was not confident that he remembered the way to Tin Agan's hut, but he was sure that following the general direction of the smoke will lead him to the Tanga village where he would begin his search.

Just as he was about to congratulate himself on leaving the village without drawing attention, James heard the rustling of the grass behind him and light footsteps. He had no need to look back to recognise the only person who would wear a skirt that would trail along the grass with such a sound. He halted, unwilling to be rude as to make her chase after him, but faced her reluctantly.

"James! You are sneaking out of the village," Constance exclaimed. The morning sun added a flush to her cheeks, or perhaps they were burning with indignation. It was tempting to smile at her and press a kiss on that golden skin, but her accusing tone and her lips half parted to scold him were most unwelcoming. She came for a fight rather than negotiation.

James drew himself to his full height and clasped his hands behind his back formally. "I do not sneak," he notified her with as much authority as he would use to address a disobedient crew. "I am leaving on a mission." He was doing it for her sake. He didn't want to be reprimanded for it.

She winced, but ignored the barrier of formality he had placed between them. It didn't matter if James was going to be offended as long as she could prevent him from going. He didn't know the Tanga like she did. There was less than a heartbeat between a death threat and an action in their world. "Have you forgotten who had promised to kill you?"

"I never forget death threats; otherwise I wouldn't be standing here. I have received a fair share of them in my life. I believe this risk justifies the gain."

He weighted every word before letting his voice accent it perfectly. His voice was a little distracting and dear, but because those words were so precisely chosen they had an air of finality in them. He was not arguing. He was notifying her about his decision. He had called her wise, and yet so thoroughly ignored her when it suited him. That hurt. She was afraid for him, desperate to get her way, and her mind went absolutely blank with the awareness that anything she said would be rejected. It was one of the moments where he showed fully his absolute stubbornness. She should have acted smarter, should have pretended to agree, tried to seduce him at the very least, but in all the irony when wise people grow angry, they became fools.

"I forbid you to go!" she shouted passionately. "Don't think I will thank you for risking your life by doing this! I won't speak to you again if you leave!"

It was the wrong thing to say to a man who was long used to giving orders and having none of his defied. A controlled mask slipped over his face, grasping for politeness, yet his feelings for Constance could never leave him indifferent. He couldn't speak to her with the same measure of logic as he would address any other person.

"I would like to know who told you that I am looking for Tin Agan," he asked, ignoring her ultimatum. "I would like to know who is not worthy of my trust."

"You haven't trusted anyone with you plan!" she said indignantly. "Your decision will influence us all, but you've decided to act alone. Regardless, you've mentioned something about speaking to Tin Agan, and Edward figured it out!"

He instantly put all the missing pieces together. Constance knew him too well to realise that he never wasted time between decision and an action, thus she was expecting him to leave. He was no fool. James had sensed Edward's hidden resentment for him during their sparring match. Apparently, that man had influence on her judgement. "If this subject is of such a great concern to him, than he should have spoken about it with me directly. I find it rather lacking in chivalry to send a woman in his place, unless he had ulterior motives. Have you asked Edward why he might want to create a discord between us?"

"Edward is my friend. He knew I would be concerned, so he told me!"

"Indeed, he is much too concerned by your welfare. You seem to spend a lot of time with him or rather he with you."

"Your jealousy is unfounded."

"I will find out whether it is unfounded or not when I come back."

"Fine!" she yelled. "Go then! See if I care!"

James didn't need to be told twice. Without sparing another word, he turned his back on her. She wanted to follow him. She wanted to catch up and throw her arm around his waist. But, her pride stopped her and made her watch him go. He left no slower or faster than his pace had been, emphasising that he most assuredly hadn't been sneaking out of the village. Had he seen tears gathering in her eyes, he would not have been so demonstratively cold.

James forced down the negative feelings from their fight away. He had developed an ability to keep calm in battle over the years. He knew his emotions will have a backlash later due to them being restrained, but it was necessary. Meeting Tanga required nothing short of absolute control.

He counted on Tin Agan to bluff. Otherwise, he would either get killed or kill someone which would start a war that they seemed to have avoided. Either way, he was limited in his options in how he could defend himself if his opponents have intended to kill him, whereas he has firmly decided not to kill anyone. It was unsettling to be venturing into the enemy territory, yet he there was a rush of excitement and wonder how much he could get away with, how much his daring and luck would hold. James wondered if this is how Jack Sparrow must have felt while entering Port Royal where he knew there was a price on his head.

Temporarily, James had lost the way, but he persisted in following the general direction of the smoke, although in some places the jungle was too dense for him to get through, forcing him to take the longer paths around. He was rewarded when he recognised the path where he had last met Tin Agan. James slowed his advancement. He was not hiding. He was alerted by the smallest sounds, and his eyes searched the surroundings with the greatest intensity as if he could will the jungle to open up a path and reveal the man he was looking for.

He heard an attack before he saw it, the tiniest whisper of the air as an arrow slashed through it. James dodged and hid behind a tree. Another arrow sunk deep into the bark right where he had been. There was another warrior who had yet to reveal himself. He had to keep moving, otherwise they would surround him. James stole a glance from his hiding place. His side vision captured the catlike movement on his left. He lunged towards it. The spear tip slightly grazed his shoulder, but James was where he wanted. He knocked the warrior off balance and used him to shield himself from the archer. The savage struggled with James' grip on his neck. He was very strong. His partner tossed aside now useless bow and left his hiding spot to join the fight. He grabbed the fallen spear, but when he pressed it to the sea man's back, James put a knife to the throat of the warrior he had been holding. The trio was unable to break the stalemate. James sensed that the other two were waiting for something, an order perhaps.

"There is no need to hide from me, Tin Agan," he said loudly. The spear tip dug deeper into his back. The second warrior made a move to escape, almost drawing blood from his own neck. To his surprise, James released him and sheathed his knife. "Had you wanted me dead, I would be by now," James stated confidently as if the chief's thought were known to him. His calm voice reflected not a fraction of the turmoil he felt when he chose to release his hostage. He forced himself to be absolutely still as the spear tip was lifted from his back.

Tin Agan appeared right in front of him, as the jungle seemed to have moved apart to let him through. His body ornament was different today with the black streaks coiling around his ribs and heart. "How did you know that I can speak your language, sea man?"

There was no greeting to indicate that he was welcome to bring his massege, but he was not dead. James ventured to satisfy the chief's curiosity. "You have been standing too close to me to miss the sign. When I told Constance that I do not like your tone, you have been offended. She hadn't translated, so I've assumed that at the very least you can understand English."

The chief regarded him with interest. Deep down he was afraid that the man with the strangely coloured eyes had supernatural powers and had read his mind, but the answer only showed that this was simply a clever man. "You are different than the rest because you've noticed. You, sea men, believe that you are better than the Tanga, and so you are blind. You think that we are not smart enough to learn your language, but we can."

There was a threat and challenge and bitterness all mixed in one short speech. James couldn't shake a feeling that the savage wanted something from him by praising him for being different and yet still accusing him of the same beliefs as the rest of the Englishmen. "Yet," he said, protesting the accusation, "Constance considers you the wisest man she knows. She spoke with nothing less than the highest regard and absolute respect about you." Something in his chest squeezed painfully, remembering his recent fight with her, and he continued more so sombrely. "She is unhappy to lose your favour."

Tin Agan broke his absolutely still posture, betraying his agitation. The woman had to be a liar, yet she was not. How could she have spoken highly about him, but then betrayed his trust by protecting a stranger. "Who is she to you?" he said bitterly. "She has been my spiritual friend for many years, and you've come so recently. Nine rain seasons have passed since my warriors told me that a very big group of sea men have landed on the shore. It was very unusual because no ship could get through the mist without breaking into pieces. Some of my warriors were afraid that these sea men had magic. I've gathered every warrior we had. We went spying on the sea men. They were a very strange group. They weren't trying to walk around with their weapons out, nor trying to kill anything. They mostly spent their day on the shore. They haven't noticed us at all. There were many, so I waited for the night to attack. At night, most of them went back to their ship, but some made a fire and stayed ashore. We have snuck closer. I was ready to call an attack, when I heard an enchanting voice. It was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard in my life. The voice was calling to the skies and the sea. It intertwined with the air itself. Every note was calling to peace. The voice came from the sea men. The voice was urging me to come to the sea men openly, so I did. I saw a sea woman. She wasn't singing. She had a shimmering stick in her hands. She put the stick to her mouth, and the sounds came, calling to us all. The sea men were dismayed by my appearance, but they didn't dare to attack me when they saw many of my warriors behind me. I lifted my hand in greeting. None of them understood my words, yet we all understood peace. We've exchanged gifts. I've allowed them to stay. I've appealed only to the woman because she was the one who commanded the power of the voice."

As Tin Agan completed his narrative, he searched for the signs of awe. His speech had been inspiring. It revealed how long and how important their connection was with the Rising Sun. Both of them could communicate with the spirits; she through her glowing stick and he through his visions. He wanted the sea man to admit that he, Tin Agan, had the first claim to her friendship, but the man regarded him with the same mysterious eyes and an aura of impenetrable calm that was reaching out to convert the chief to a different belief.

"But, I was the one who showed her the value of her gift when she still didn't know how to use it properly," the sea man claimed, opening up a piece of the Constance's life that came before her appearance on the island. "I was the one who encouraged her to learn how to communicate with the spirits, or rather to play her flute. This is the name of the instrument that she uses. She plays beautifully indeed. You have enjoyed her gift, but I was there so support her when she was learning. I was there with her before she came to you. I have always remembered her."

"You are the one she had been waiting for." The realisation had stilled Tin Agan's anger. The woman didn't dismiss his friendship with her for a stranger. He could understand better if she had been protecting someone she had known long ago from death.

"Yes," James confirmed. He hadn't considered it, but put so simply it was the truth. She never opened up her heart to another. She accepted him as he was with all his faults and the dark past the moment they have come together, the moment he woke up and she recognised him. He had been most unjust to her in the morning where Edward was concerned, and he would make it up to her if she was willing to forgive him. "She has a past. She comes from a different world. That world is calling her back. I've come to take her back. You know why I've come to you. I need your help. I need to know about the white mist that surrounds the island."

"I will tell you nothing!"

"Yet, you've come to speak with me when you could have avoided this encounter like you did with the others."

"You are a man difficult to avoid."

"Is this why you were so angry? Your visions have revealed to you that I will ask you these questions. Then, perhaps they might have been hinting that the time has come to break the curse?"

The chief lost his compose and began to pace. "The white mist protects us from the sea men. I remember when there was no mist when I was young. The sea men do not respect our traditions. They come to take what they can. They don't care about us at all."

"And they will never learn to care about you and respect your traditions unless someone, someone who belongs to their world, teaches them these values. Constance is a messenger is she not? What right do you have to keep her here when she has the mission?"

James had learned long ago that to win an argument he had to bring up the points that his opponent would consider valuable, rather than what he believed to be right. It was like a game, a game that had no defined rules. He could only guess what the savage was thinking about. He was not sure that he could read his mindset properly. Spirits and visions were completely nonsensical to him. Yet, his improvisation affected the chief greatly.

The chief appeared to be perturbed by the violation of the decorum. Nobody pestered him until he was willing to speak, but this man truly was form a different place, and he followed a different set of laws. He behaved like he was entitled to know everything. Then know he would, the chief decided. He launched into another lengthily tale, leaving it up to James to figure out its moral.

"When I was a child, a storm blew over our island, bringing a sea man in the scattered pieces of his ship, the only survivor. Our chief at first wanted to set him on fire, but he set her heart on fire instead. She fell in love with the sea man. She had forbidden anyone to touch him. The tribe grew discontent that she favoured him so. They lived together for three rain seasons until another ship appeared at our shore. We have rejoiced while our chief grieved that the sea man will leave. But, he stayed, choosing the woman he loved. The chief wanted to take him for her husband after he had given up his world. Many Tanga were outraged. The best warriors had hopes that she would choose them, so they could eventually become chiefs themselves. It was unheard of for a sea man to rule the tribe. The tribe on their wedding day rebelled and chose another chief. The two of them have been killed in the wedding shrine where they were pierced by spears. But, as it happened, a hurricane came over the island. It was a tall pillar of air, coiling upwards very high like a snake. The pillar destroyed the entire village. I remember my father picking me up and running. In the morning, we noticed a change in the sea. It was covered by the mist. The survivors have taken refuge and rebuilt the village on the other side of the island. No one had dared to return to the shrine again. There were a few brave or just foolish men who went, but they came back in great fear. They say that the vengeful spirit of the sea man is wondering among the ruins. The mist never disappeared. Some say it's a curse and punishment to us all. Others say that it is our reward because we haven't allowed the sea man to rule our village. But, we agree that it is not up to us to change what the spirits have done."

It appeared to be the end of the story. As informative as it had been, it brought James no closer to getting them off the island. "How do I break the curse?" he ventured a question.

The savage's corners of the eyes wrinkled like he knew a good joke. It was a payback for James' invasion. There was something in him that spoke of the truthfulness of his answer. "I don't know. Perhaps you should ask the vengeful spirit," he taunted, thinking it had to be impossible to follow this suggestion.

James regarded him seriously. "Then, I ask you to give me a guide who will show me the way to the shrine."


	20. Reborn13

Here is another ship, that is, James and Constance aside.

Name: HMS _Interceptor_

Type: Brig

Speed: 6 – 11 knots + 1 to accommodate the reputation (22 km/h maximum)

Crew: 70 sailors, 50 gunners, 50 marines

Guns: 20

Displacement: 178 tons

Length: 34 meters

Sails: 4400 sq ft (410 m sq)

Travel time between Jamaica and Tortuga: 20 – 40 hours

The following chapter is rated M.

* * *

><p><strong>REBORN ch13<strong>

The tropical rain came down fast and hard on the unsuspecting village, drowning the ground in a multitude of the forked, shallow creeks. The air was shattered by low rumble of thunder. Constance flinched as a particularly bright lightening illumined her room. She feared the sky-unleashed storms that occasionally came down on the island with ferocity, threatening to sweep away the human settlement that had been nearly drowned before, but maintained its stubborn presence. The fate of the village, however, was of little concern as Constance opened the door and stood on the threshold of her home, ignoring the pelting droplets that instantly soaked her feet. The wall of rain was impenetrable. She backed away a step, leaving the door open and chiding herself.

Even if James would come back to the village, she had given him little incentive to come to her. Most likely, he would join Simmons, who could offer a steaming concoction that was made of something unknown, but had a bitter aroma of alcohol and spices, and an equally stinging word to clear one's mind. Pride be damned, propriety be damned and the rain too along with it. Constance padded barefoot across the floor, searching for her shoes. She must go to Simmons, and if James wasn't there, she must go to the Tanga village. She had to find James, who had better be alive and well when they met. Only then she'd feel peaceful enough to sulk, which was difficult when he was somewhere in the jungle getting killed. If only he was back.

The shoes were nowhere to be found. Constance glanced outside, considering to leave barefoot, and instantly forgot everything. James was there, watching her. He was anxious to come in, but firmly positioned himself at the doorstep outside. The trails of water dripped from his hair. They ran along his neck and down his chest behind the collar of his shirt that was made transparent by the torrents. It outlined his muscles, clinging to every tight line of the trained body.

"May I come in?"

There he was, clinging onto propriety again after all they've shared on the beach. She didn't want him to ask her permission to come in – he simply should have without giving it consideration, regardless of their disagreement. She should have expected the retreat. Being with him was always like watching the tide; he came in and left, guided by the laws partially understood by her and partially hoped to understand one day. But, most importantly he always came back, and she was always waiting.

"You may," she invited.

James closed the door behind him in an awkward silence that stretched out into a thousand heartbeats. Neither knew where to start, wondering how to make an apology without giving up their right to do what they thought was best. She was hopelessly drowning in the feel of his gaze on her face, hands and shoulders; and this shyness was much too disquieting. She was used to teasing James, pushing the boundaries of propriety, bringing him out of that self-imposed control he adapted ever since he became a teenager. It had always been satisfactory to rob him of that stiffness, and watch his shoulder relax. No one could compete with her at flustering him. Yet, there she was blushing, when he did nothing other than look at her. In it lay something alluring, masculine and powerful.

"You're all wet," she broke the silence, moving quickly to the other side of the room with this excuse to occupy herself with something. The close scrutiny made her vulnerable. "I'm going to start a fire. There is a towel in the other room." She knelt by the fireplace where several logs were stored, turning away from him to hide the nervousness. The storm, shut out of the house, changed from the rumbling to a half-silenced, melancholic tapping that wrapped around the pair like a blanket. James moved to her side swiftly and soundlessly. His hands met hers before she could reach the wood.

"We need to talk," he claimed, his voice low and nearly overlapped by a clap of thunder, but she heard none of the later.

She didn't want to talk. Not when the words were so unsatisfactory, so misguiding. "You've made your opinion clear this morning," she was forced to voice her grievance, while all she wanted was to smooth the entangled, wet strands of hair from his face and return the warmth to his cool fingers.

"Not in a manner befitting a gentleman. Not after I've left you with an impression that I do not value your opinion. I apologize for conducting myself in less than a courteous manner this morning when I should have been kinder. I assure you that I treasure everything you have to say. I appreciate that I am important enough to you that your indignation had been sparked because I could have been hurt."

As always, he cut to the point with precision, leaving very little mercy for himself, but this self-honesty and awareness of what he wanted also demanded an absolute honesty from her and an immediate answer. He was telling her what he would and what he would not tolerate in a relationship.

"I love you as you are. I respect that you are independent. I consider you to be both an intelligent and a wise woman. I will always listen and take into consideration your advice prior to making important decisions that concern us. However, you are the woman I love, thus I am responsible for you. It is my duty to answer for the outcome of our choices. Therefore, the final say will always be mine. When I say so, I expect you to respect my choice, even if I decide to jump off a cliff. Once the decision is made I don't want you to fight me. That jump will be far more successful if I know that I have your support, and if I know that you trust me to make the right choice. I must know whether I can rely on you to do this."

She nodded, subdued, and swallowed a lump in her throat, although the tears treacherously blurred her vision. "I apologise. I should never have forbidden you to go, especially not in that tone. You know perfectly well that you can always count on my support, which will never change. I've always trusted you with my life and now with my heart. I've always waited for you. What you've suggested about Edward is completely untrue. Your opinion is far more important to me than his. You shouldn't endanger your good relationship with the crew by picking a fight with him."

His finger lifted her chin gently. "Still thinking about other men, are you, while in my company?" he disrupted her rambling.

Constance opened her mouth to give him an indignant reply when she saw a slight, teasing curve lingering on his lips. She almost got angry at him for joking when she felt such a dramatic upheaval, but avoided a quarrel with Edward because that's what she wanted. All those thoughts were rapidly withdrawing, leaving nothing in their wake except pure emotions as he stoked her cheek with his thumb.

"I suppose I'm going to have to put those thoughts out of your mind permanently," he informed her, leaning closer.

Their lips met. Firmly and passionately he demanded her undivided attention, bringing with him a contrasting mix of a heated breath, like a sun on the golden shore, and the cool as the sea spay lips. Constance trembled under a steady pressure as his tongue playfully nipped her lips and nudged against her teeth. She allowed the entry, taking her fill at the invasion and sinking against him.

The wet, chilling shirt pressed against her chest when their bodies came together, disrupting the kiss. Constance withdrew to remove it, battling impatiently with the cold buckles and leather belts crossing his chest that held weapons. His hands slid down her shoulders and arms in a wake of a blouse he removed with an unhurried certainty. Then, he leaned back and examined his handiwork with a smug expression like he had won a shirt removing contest. She ripped the last buckle away and pulled his shirt over his head in one swift motion, not caring to deal with the most irritating buttons.

He was handsome: muscular as the men of his profession were, without a trace of bulkiness due to his lean built, but the debauched scar across his heart stood out like a seal, marking where the trail of blood had passed, and where in its place now flowed the rainwater. She traced the trails of droplets down his chest with her mouth. His hitched breath urged her on. She backtracked upwards with her tongue and sucked the moisture from his collar bone, and then ghosted her lips across his flesh and bit his shoulder.

"Wild cat," he chuckled, pulling her up and trying to capture her mouth. His mouth was everywhere: on her neck, jaw and cheeks, chasing the elusive prize.

She sunk her nails into his back, and then slid her hands to his waistline to remove all the wet articles of clothes that stood between them. He forestalled her attempt, sure that he wouldn't be able to stand with her hands on him. "James, please," she resorted to whimpering when her more aggressive initiative have been hindered. "I need you."

"Soon," he whispered. He climbed onto his feet with her wrapped around him and carried her across the room. The bed was an entirely new sensation as he dropped her onto the sheets. "Mine," he whispered hotly against her skin, "beautiful, enchanting, precious. I will make all your dreams come true."

She laughed, much too pleased to deny him that try. "Knowing you, I'm afraid you just might, literally."

His behaviour changed. The slower, lingering caresses reflected his subdued desire and the raging passion close to the surface that he mastered. His self-restraint allowed her to lose control, cling to him. She followed his lead in the array of the quiet moans, creaking of the bed and the low howl of the wind, all intertwined and leading to one quiet exclamation that meant all the love in the world.

"James."

His hands were soothing. He gathered her into embrace possessively. It was peaceful to lie there with her cheek pressed to his bare chest, listening to the quickened beating of his heart. She closed her eyes relishing the new feeling of security and deepest satisfaction, pliant and half in a dreamscape. She must have dozed off.

When she opened her eyes, James was above her, resting on his elbows and watching her, although his look was half-unfocused and his thoughts were turned inward. She tangled her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer for a kiss. He shifted to be lying down beside her, so they would be facing each other. She guessed what he was thinking about.

"Have you found Tin Agan?" she ventured to ask as gently as she could, meaning to free the question of any reproach.

"I have," he confirmed. His palms slid down her body thoughtfully, lingering on the curve on her hips. The touch intended to alleviate her worry, and she with an equal care ran her fingers through his hair. "I believe there might be a way to lift the curse and free us all, but I must leave tomorrow morning. This is why I came to you. I didn't want to leave without reconciliation."

"Where are you going?" she asked, although her true question was how long he will be away, and when will he be coming back.

"I believe it is a shrine at the abandoned Tanga village. I am not sure how far away, but more than a day. The Chief promised that someone named Toa Ni will lead me there."

Her protest appeared in a minor, unintended tug of his hair. "Is anyone else is going or just the two of you?" she asked, hopeful that James would have trustworthy companions, but he replied in the negative.

"He refused to show the way to the shrine to anyone else."

"Toa Ni is the one who opposes peace with us the most. It could be a trap. He might lead you into the jungle and kill you there, and then claim it was an accident."

James resumed the reassuring strokes along her back, but she saw a shadow that quickly estimated the risk before it sunk underneath a calm façade. "Thank you for warning me. I will not give him the opportunity to do any harm."

Nevertheless, she was reassured that he had taken her warning seriously. Any normal person upon receiving a death threat would run, hide, and enlist the help of his friends and authorities. But, this was James Norrington who lived under a flag offence is best defence. He would push away his friends, so none of them would get hurt by association, and run towards the danger to face the problem directly. She could only reproach herself helplessly for indulging these utterly bad habits and secretly adoring the stubborn, careless, uptight man, who too she suspected loved her for something other than saintly obedience.

"Be careful," she told him, meaning to say _be safe_.


	21. Reborn14

James was not going to sulk. He brought it upon himself: the tenacious three day hike up to the highest point on the island among the coiling, buzzing, swirling shrubbery that crawled with a fist-large, poisonous spiders, snakes of all colours and lengths, and monsters that fit into neither reptilian nor insect category but topped them at being hairy, slimy and otherwise typically ugly. All of these creatures tended to pounce, spring, and drop, ambushing victims with a speed of lightening from the holes in the ground, underneath the rocks, branches of the trees, and even beneath the leaves and flowers. All of it aiming to gobble up an unsuspecting victim. Give him the fair sea any day where the enemies could be spotted a league away, James decided.

Perhaps, Edward's prediction about the crocodile moat had not been that far off. James felt a stab of annoyance at the man who deserved to have his behind skewed in sword practice at the nearest opportunity for his prophecy. There weren't any crocodiles, but the vicious, beastly greenery that threatened to eat him alive absolutely made up for the lack of the sharp teeth and crushing jaws. The hostile environment was surely set on strangling him. Not that James hadn't retaliated in full by chopping into salad with his sword one particularly vicious, drooling, carnivorous bush that wanted to devour him under Toa Ni's indifferent on the surface stare, while the savage deeply enjoyed the sea man's predicament.

All of his adventures were made more so bothersome due to the savage who accompanied him. His guide hated him, period, and considered it below his status to act as James' lead. The path to the former Tanga village was a long climb uphill. James hardly slept; when he did, it was the weary semi-unconsciousness that brought him awake at the faintest unfriendly movement or sound. The savage was blissfully unaware about the existence of breaks, marching sunrise to sunset, and only occasionally sliding off into the bushes to take care of his natural needs. They didn't hunt, and grabbed a few quick bites of whatever they brought separately in a suspicious silence. After a few unsuccessful attempts to start a conversation, James copied the silent treatment that Toa Ni was giving him. He only had been able to discern that Toa Ni could understand him, although the warrior's vocabulary was not nearly as advanced as his chief's. The savage surely didn't need to know many words, since he believed that all sea men were best when they were tried up and hoisted above a fire.

Last evening, James sat on some wiggling, jelly mass that gave a loud, frog resembling croak, and bit his behind that was now itching. James was damned if he attended to the problem with Toa Ni watching him. The savage, however, had no such reservation and suddenly scratched his own behind with his spear. James silently added the warrior to his list of the odd creatures he wanted to throttle, in the second place after Jack Sparrow. The feeling was surely mutual.

The hike of the unknown length was starting to grade on James' nerves, but he never showed any signs of weakness. He followed the savage's schedule with an absolutely disinterested look, pretending that he didn't care.

On the third day, James risked a question when the jungle allowed him to walk beside the warrior. "Toa Ni," he asked, "why are you helping me if you hate me?"

The warrior stopped, regarding him with the most snobbish look as he wavered between the desire not to lower his status by talking to a foreigner and considering whether the threat he had to convey was too impressive not to offer it in place of an explanation. His stop, however, was an encouraging sign because the Tanga either walked or talked; they didn't like to do both at the same time.

"I do not hide from my enemies," said Toa Ni. "I want the sea men to come. I will cut all their hearts out and eat them."

Facing the danger was the reasoning James could understand, as foolhardy as it was. Toa Ni was young. He had no idea that one first rate ship with enough marines on board could completely take over the island within a couple of weeks. It was the belief in his strength and ignorance that made his opinion different from his chief's about the mist. Toa Ni never imagined just how large the world was, seeing only his home in the jungle, dangerous as it was.

Their stop attracted a predator that watched the pair from the branches of a tree; the brown scales made it indistinguishable from the bark. The python slithered with the fluidity of honey closer to his victim, and struck in a blink of an eye. He coiled around Toa Ni, strangling his prey. James grabbed his knife to help, but the wilful, paralyzing expression in Toa Ni's eyes stopped him. The warrior wanted no help from the sea man. It was a moment of pride as he squeezed the python's throat and valiantly struggled to keep the coils from crushing the bones in his neck.

James watched the fight with interest. Toa Ni's muscles bulged, and his hands trembled with force. There was raw strength and captivating power in the battle for survival. The warrior won. The python went limp. His initial strike had failed to suffocate the victim. Toa Ni shook off the coils and tossed the reptile onto the ground. The python slid into the grass, making a hasty escape. James gave the warrior an acknowledging, curt nod. James thought he saw something new appear in how Toa Ni looked at him, but it was gone too fast to be sure.

"Not far now, sea man," said Toa Ni, who refused to call James by his name, but it was the first phrase he offered voluntarily. They walked for another hour until Toa Ni stopped and regarded James expectantly.

Once his attention was no longer bound to the roots that were entangling his ankles, James noticed an almost indistinguishable change in their surroundings. There were remnants of a cracked pole in front of him. Dried heads decorating the pole, grimaced from the overgrown cover of flowers and lianas, telling James that they've reached their destination.

James examined the surroundings curiously. The village was hardly distinguishable from the rest of the nature due to the jungle almost fully reclaiming its lost territory, eradicating all traces of the habitat in a sprouting shrubs and lianas. There were broken, almost entirely enveloped by the greenery huts. The ground crunched underneath his feet where he saw pieces of the smashed pots and plates. The village had been abandoned in haste; the testament to it lay in a mix of scattered ritual drums, domestic items and even weapons on the path.

"What now?" James muttered to himself, wondering if there was a ghost summoning ritual or whether it appeared randomly. He hoped that the ghost patrolled its haunting territory regularly if it was the later. Living in the abandoned village to wait for it was even less appealing than spending a day listening to Sparrow talk to his compass as James swabbed the deck of the _Black Pearl_, wheras he had mistakenly thought that nothing could beat that experience.

Toa Ni heard the muttering and misinterpreted it as a question addressed to him. "I do not summon spirits," he replied ironically before resuming their journey. "They come when they want." He still needed to lead the sea man to the shrine, although he considered not for the first time killing the man and going back. He very much preferred solid world to spiritual. His behaviour changed. Toa Ni was alert and constantly searching the surroundings. He walked like a predator that had ventured uninvited into a territory of another more powerful beast and was prepared for battle before their paths crossed.

But, it was James who saw the spectre first. It came through a wall of the nearest hut. It was a man, who walked rather than floated, towards them. His features were clear, yet white as the mist. He wore a Navy uniform. With every step he took towards the living the air grew colder around them. It was chilling enough for the breath to form into cloudy puffs. Toa Ni tensed like a coiled snake, shaking with an effort to stay. A cold sphere formed around them, and the snowflakes began to fall. For the savage, the icy flakes were an unearthly sight beyond his imagination. He wasn't afraid of mortal enemies, but the cold and unknown was different. Fear overpowered pride. He ran, leaving James all alone.

James was stunned. Cold sweat formed on his brow. His fear suffocated him better than all the jungles could, not as much due to the appearance of the spectre, but due to uncanny physical resemblance the spectre shared with his second officer, Alexander Warren, who had served aboard the _Dauntless_. It was not the same man, James told himself, fighting the desire to follow Toa Ni.

"Good afternoon, lieutenant," James said, forcing a semblance of control into his voice. It held steady, although he shuddered as the snowflakes that were landing on his eyelashes and blurring the world turned into tiny icy pellets. He couldn't lift his arm to brush them away.

The spectre continued his grim march. James felt like he was turning into an ice sculpture, his instincts warning him that soon he would lack the strength to escape. He stayed. The frost was closing in, wrapping around him like a shroud. "There is a curse that holds my lover prisoner on this island. I believe you are responsible. I cannot leave until I learn how to lift it." The world was blue and white. His body was numb and stiff. His blood was turning into icy rivers. "I believe you understand what love is, and what any man would do for his lover. Just as you are here to avenge your beloved, I am here to save mine." The last words came out as a strangled whisper; his lips were no longer obeying him.

And then the cold abated. Hot, Caribbean sun blazed, warming the air. James felt like an icy slab had been lifted from his chest, and he was free to move again.

The spectre stood within reach, watching him soundlessly as James recovered his breath. The spectre pointed towards the other end of the village. He walked a few paces, stopped, and looked at James over his shoulder.

James accepted the invitation to follow. The spectre led him to an open platform; its elevation suggested that it was made for rituals. It was the place he had been looking for. The shrine was a circular area surrounded by four poles with the grinning masks carved into the woodwork and a large stone in the middle that was smudged by traces of blood. The shrine presented a beautiful view of the jungle and the mist beyond. The white ring stretched high into the clouds. James felt like the island was trapped inside of a tall glass of milk.

He jumped when the spectre touched his shoulder to regain his attention. The spectre went around the slab and pointed at a pile of bones.

"Is this you and your wife?" James asked. He seemed to have better luck talking to the spectre than to Toa Ni.

The man nodded mournfully. He let out a wail of discontent. James wondered why the spectre could howl but couldn't talk, which would have helped to clarify what this lost soul wanted.

"What an unchristian way to die."

The spectre nodded again, this time with agitation, and pointed to the bones once more and then crossed his arms in front of him.

"Do you want me to bury your remains in accordance with our religion?" James asked. Maybe, performing the task was the payment for learning how to break the curse. But, he would have done so regardless as he was loath to let the tormented soul suffer beyond death. James understood what it was like too well.

The spectre nodded and melted into the air. James sighed. The damned ghost could have at least led him to a shovel to dig the grave with. Toa Ni was of no help either after he ran away, although James wasn't too sorry about that fact. At least James scored a bravery point against him after his miserable track through the jungle that Toa Ni had enjoyed at his expense.

The rest of the day was spent on digging the grave and building a cross. James never found a shovel, but he did find tools in one of the huts that were suitable enough for the digging. Collecting the bones into a large pot, and making a silent apology and assuring the ghosts that it wasn't because he wanted to cook their remains, was a joyless task that sent shivers down his spine. James thought the specture would appreciate that he would be buried in one grave with his wife. Perhaps, they would finally have their love together in Heaven that they haven't found on earth. James didn't know the names of the victims. He had simply inscribed _Lieutenant of the Royal Navy and his wife the Tanga Chief_ on the cross.

As the last touch, he gathered a handful of flowers and placed them on the grave. James knelt by it in a silent prayer for his countrymen who, regardless of the new day or sixty years in the past, have left and would be leaving their homes in search of fortune, adventure and power, but most importantly they've discovered that it was a search for themselves because the sea tore away all false masks, testing each man's character. Some men failed the test and sunk into disgrace. Others, like the nameless lieutenant, found the strength to stand by their choice to love regardless of sacrifices. Men like Warren left storm-hardened, unquestionable bravery and loyalty in their passing.

James closed his eyes. The wind swept away the tears from his face that he didn't know he shed. At last, he found the lost words that had been stuck in his chest. The ones that had lived in him, but had sunk so far into abyss of his despair on the night of the hurricane that it would have cost him his sanity to think them. The words to thank all those men, and wish them peace and a safe place in Heaven. The wind grew stronger, ripping the petals off the nearby trees, and swirled them around him like a cloud.

When James opened his eyes again and raised his head, he saw a clear sea, stretching all the way to the horizon in the vibrant hues of red and gold of the setting sun. The mist had been swept away by the wind along with the sorrow, freeing the golden sky beyond that had never looked so glorious.

James heard a slight rustle behind him. His hand flew to his sword and then relaxed at the sight of his companion. Toa Ni was back. James suspected that the savage drew his attention on purpose with that minor noise. The warrior was regarding him with an open curiosity like he had discovered in James something he had never expected to find. The expression, which James had not quite caught earlier, was bared open. It was the grudging, but recognised as fairly earned, glimmer of respect.


	22. Reborn15

The village was abuzz with questions and flurry upon his return. The flurry was a natural result when an entire village was planning on leaving their settlement. The men were already packing their possessions and moving them aboard the _Fortuna Minor_, none of them sure whether the curse had been lifted permanently or whether the mist might come back. Anxious as they were to set sail, it was not so easy to uproot and pack into small bags all the items of sentiment collected over nine years on the island like moss upon the stone, as the doctor had noted. Simmons, most methodically and unhurriedly was arranging his priceless medical supplies extracted from the local fauna, which he swore he would solely miss in England where it was impossible to replenish the supply due to the unfavourable climate to grow them. It was the kind of complication that every man faced as they had to admit that the island at least partially became their home, even if they have missed England dearly.

The questions were reserved for James, whom everyone had been waiting for eagerly. He was surrounded by a crowd the moment he came back, and prompted into repeating the same story over and over again. Every man wanted to talk to him, ask him something, thank him or give him an approving slap on the back until his throat and his back got sore. Through it all Constance followed him, joking and taking part in conversation with everyone, but on occasion she sent him smouldering looks that could have burned his clothes off, and made him wish everyone to Davy Jones Locker, so he could enjoy her company.

He got a reprieve when he ran into Simmons. The doctor immediately noticed that James was limping, and dragged him away to the hospital. Constance mouthed to James, before he was abducted, that she will be waiting at home. The doctor's scowl not to get under his arm when he worked was severe enough to disperse the crowd remarkably quickly as he took the patient into his care to poke and prod.

"Congratulations," Simmons drawled out while cleaning up the bloodied marks of what clearly appeared to be a set of long, sharp teeth, "you've managed to obtain a unique bite the likes of which I have not encountered before in my practice. Perhaps, if you cooperate and let me find the remedy your leg will not fall off."

"The culprit that bit me had six legs and four eyes," James informed him most helpfully as if that could help in finding the cure. He, however, didn't think that his leg was in danger of falling off. It hurt no more than from the Spanish ricochet that grazed him when he was a midshipman, which for some reason had kept him in the hospital for a week in spite of his vehement protests.

"And did it also happen to speak French?" Simmons snorted in disbelief, although James was relatively sure that he was not exaggerating.

"No. But when it bit me, I've recalled some of the French selective vocabulary I've heard from the crew of a French pirate ship that I've boarded in my practice. I don't believe some of it is appropriate because one of the insults translates as an 'English son of a pig.'"

"Pig or not, precaution wouldn't hurt in case it was poisonous. I will put some paste on your leg. It doesn't smell too good, but it will draw all the poison out in a couple of hours."

Sitting still in the hospital with a stinking paste on his leg for a couple of hours was somewhat out of the question because it interfered with his desire to kiss his beloved breathless. As soon as the doctor looked away, James made his escape through the window. Simmons only had a moment to yell at James' back that he doesn't like dirty footprints on the windowsill, and James had better clean them up if he wanted to make the window his entrance and exit of choice in the future, which he better not, before his patient vanished from his view like the mist.

James snuck through the village, avoiding any encounters. Due to his stealthy method, it had taken him three times longer to reach Constance's home. He must have spent too much time in the jungle because he had adapted some of the behaviour of the crawling critters. He first peeked into the window to make sure that Constance was alone. She was. He watched patiently until her back was turned, and then stealthily jumped into the window and pounced, wrapping his arms around her waist and spinning her. Constance shrieked, but James should have considered that he had never been attracted to women who would faint in fright. Constance buried her elbow in his stomach forcefully enough to almost bring up yesterday's dinner, and nearly landed a kick on his bitten shin.

"James Norrington!" she exclaimed once she identified her attacker. "I've never expected such a level of maturity from you!"

James looked down at the floor, thoroughly scolded and blushed. "I didn't expect such a level of maturity from myself either," he confessed, imitating the look of a whining, kicked puppy with the deadliest to the heart perfection.

"I guess I'm going to have to punish you," Constance told him, fighting to keep her rightful indignation that has melted into nothingness after one look at him. Before he noticed that he got away with his prank, she snatched one of the pistols from his belt, and held it out of his reach teasingly. "You are not allowed to wield dangerous, firepower weapons with that level of maturity," she informed him, running her finger suggestively along the barrel.

"Do give that back," he requested seriously, which was lost in the saucy look she shot at him. "I never play with the weapons."

"If Your Admiralship doesn't like my conduct, he may feel free to discipline me."

He had her disarmed before she uttered the last word. The pistol fell on the floor with a dull thud as James kissed her breathless. She melted and burned in the smouldering heat of his lips. When he withdrew, a wicked light danced in his eyes. He had removed her belt and bound her hands together during the kiss. She had no time to voice her protest when his fingers, soft as the cat paws and trice as ticklish slid under her blouse and excruciatingly slowly ghosted along her stomach and ribs. Constance squirmed and laughed, trapped entirely by the mercilessly ticklish and sensual touch.

"Perhaps we should discuss the terms on my capitulation by the fireplace?" she suggested playfully, temporarily beaten but not defeated, when he allowed her a short reprieve.

James regarded the changes by the fireplace quizzically. The thin rug had been replaced by a soft, comfortable one with the pillows strategically arranged on top of it. Constance had an expression that was far too innocent to believe that it was an accident. He tried to cling to the shreds of reason, which was increasingly difficult when she was sliding her bare foot along his leg.

"Perhaps, we should wait for the night when everyone will lose interest in finding me."

"Seven and a half days, James," she breathed. "They were longer than ten years."

"I just know that Simmons will appear when we least want him to."

"Don't worry. He isn't going to join us," she whispered, winding her arms around his neck as she finally removed the belt from her wrists that he had tried loosely, and step by step luring him to the fireplace.

"He better not," James whispered, following her down into the inviting softness of the pillows. "I do not share."

"Which leaves me with a fewer options. I think, I will pass because you aren't my type, Mr Norrington."

James bolted like he was bitten by another poisonous critter. Constance was glaring daggers as the doctor who interrupted so untimely. She seemed to question whether they could find privacy on the mostly uninhabited island. Simmons with a deadpan face regarded the mayhem, although to be fair he had not been stealthy at all in his approach. However, he was better at tracking down his patients than Edward his dinner on an empty stomach.

"I hate to interrupt your conventional welcome for the hero who valiantly defeats the threat to humanity and accordingly receives a very deep gratitude from the maiden of his heart upon his victory, but I must sadden you that you are no longer the center of the gossip, as I'm sure you will solely miss the fanfares in your honour," he ensued. The 'sure' was drawled out with unmistakable undertone of knowledgeable irony. Simmons was aware exactly how much James was disquieted by all the attention, meanwhile the man in question was standing half-way across the room from Constance and getting progressively flushed all the way to his neck as Simmons talked. "There is a ship floating just off the shore under the flag of our country. She is quite impressive from what Edward told me as an apology. He had been running heedlessly, or rather in his usual manner of moving about, to notify Captain Wilson," Simmons delivered the most important news.

"We should check who it is that has the first honour to re-discover our island," said James. He returned to her side, and offered Constance a hand to help her up.

"Not so fast," Simmons stopped him, and offered reletlessly a bottle to James that looked like it was filled with a colourless spider piss. "It's an antidote in case that creature was poisonous, unless you prefer the stinky paste, which of course you will not thank me for."

James was not daring enough to argue with authority after he had conducted himself with the doctor not in the most intelligent manner. He drained the content in three gulps, which tasted the way it looked. "Thank you," he told the doctor, composing a straight face. "It's the best poisonous spider-pig antidote I've ever tasted."

"If I didn't know better, I would be completely fooled by this expression of your honest and purely trustworthy self," Simmons rolled his eyes, already half way outside, no less curious than the rest about the new ship.

"Am I not?"

"You still are, but in the future I will remember that you rely on others to overestimate your sense of fair play to shamelessly outwit and outmanoeuvre them in the most pirate-like fashion. Nobody suspects a gentleman with the air of gravity and duty about him, and a foot long pole of propriety up his rigid posture, to jump out the window when they have their back on him."

_It's the honest ones you need to watch out for_. James blinked and looked around, wondering where that stray thought came from. The doctor saw Edward and John ahead, and called out for them to wait. He was distracted from lecturing James as Edward at once jibed him about growing too old to catch up. James pondered the doctor's insight. He wouldn't have been able to release the crew of the _Empress_ from the brig of the _Flying Dutchman_ had Beckett not trusted him to maintain the discipline aboard the ship. Nor would he have gotten away with the Heart of Davy Jones in the plain view of everyone because they have expected self-sacrifice from him more so than deceit. He still believed that integrity had to serves as the standing base of his character, but life had taught him that those who rigidly stuck to the rules and principles tended to lose, whereas he was too ambitious and too competitive to accept loses. There had to be a middle ground in dealing with people fairly, but not allowing them to turn that into his weakness and exploit it. He had tricked Simmons fairly, and there was nothing piratical about his tactics, James decided broodingly as the jungle stood apart, opening a beautiful view of the sea, the endless line of which still hadn't worn off in intensity after being encased for so long by the mist.

As Simmons informed them, there was a ship anchored close to the shore. She clearly stood out against the canvas of the sapphire sky and white clouds. James would have recognised her anywhere; the narrow hull streaked with a deep blue line that emphasized every elegant curve, playing against the dark, brown gold of the woodwork. The two gun decks were currently closed off and hiding at least sixty guns as the ship relaxed in the glow of the sun with the sails down on her tall, straight to the perfection masts. Yet, all this beauty only inspired the deepest hurt and anxiety as James regarded the ship.

Constance squeezed his hand almost painfully. She too recognised the ship. "James, is this not the _Guardian Lawrence_?" she whispered.

"It is," he mouthed, tight lipped, his gaze running a path from the ship down to the longboat that was approaching the shore with the answers aboard.

What was his father's ship doing here? Did it mean that his father was aboard or had he entrusted his ship to another person? Although, the answer to the last question was clear enough.

James recognised the tall man who stood in the boat imposingly like a bear, roaring the commands. It was Braden. It was unpleasant but not surprising that with Philip's influence he could make the Captain. The man beside him, James at first mistook for Philip, who surely hadn't released his lackey from his control and held Braden with titles, but as the boat came closer he turned out to be an older man. He was even skinnier, crustier and even smaller than Philip, dressed in absolutely black, heavy frock and hat, in spite of the scorching heat that he bore with the pride of a man for whom defending his right to wear what was proper in a battle against the sun was a matter of principle.

The longboat reached the spot where it could proceed no further, and the Captain along with a few men disembarked. One of the sailors offered the elderly gentleman a hand, and stumbled out of the boat with an apparent gratitude to be once more on albeit shaky but land.

Braden's mouth fell open in the most graceless manner, and he gaped at James like he was the devil reincarnated. More so unsettling, however, was a look the elderly gentleman had given James that seemed to penetrate down to his bones.

Captain Wilson sensed the tension building up between the parties and took the initiative to introduce himself and his companions. Braden continued to stare at James stupidly, forgetting that it would have been appropriate for him to take charge of the conversation, when the black encased man took the initiative.

"Elgar Steels," he introduced himself, maintaining his scrutiny of James without as much as blinking. "I apologize for having to forestall any other questions that would be more appropriate, Captain, but my mission must come first. I must ask your companion whether he is a relation of Admiral Lawrence Norrington," he stated, and then asked James directly. "And, providing my assumption is correct, are you his son?"

"I am," James said dryly in between his teeth, regarding the man who resembled a black crow too much not to bring him ill tidings. "And you are, Sir?"

"I am a trusted notary of your family, acting on behalf of the Admiral Norrington to pass his Final Will and Testament to his son."


	23. Reborn16

**REBORN ch16**

In the light of an evening lantern, with an impressive folder of documentation fetched from the ship and laid out on the living room table between them, Elgar Steels did not look as out of place as he did on the beach in his unchangeable black grab, now resembling more a large bat than a crow. He insisted on a private conversation with James as soon as possible. Ever attuned to the social dynamics, Simmons claimed that he had work to finish at the healing house and retreated, leaving the house in the disposal of James and the notary. Steels' rigid posture mirrored the discomfort level of his client who preferred to stand with his hands clasped behind his back, strung and ready to snap like a tight rigging in a squall. To his credit, James' voice was fully controlled, not a single note was raised to an inappropriate level.

"Sir, I must bluntly speak my mind. Your unexpected advent, aside from learning about my father's passing so dispassionately, brings me no pleasure. I have been informed eight months ago in unpalatable circumstances that my father had both disowned and disinherited me, which I do not wish to hear repeated to me. I suspect you might be looking for assurances that I will not protest in court this decision. I am disdainful that anyone would think that I'm capable of it. I am willing to cooperate and give you whichever guarantee you require as long as you cut our appointment as short as possible, and spare me the long bureaucratic routine."

The notary regarded him bleakly. He had dealt with a far more irate men in his career that had never inspired trust or good will in people. "Such precedent had taken place," he assessed, "however, the Admiral had insisted on changing the Will in your favour. As well as, he had been most keen on delivering his message to you directly."

"Your dedication to your duty is commendable," James let the irony slide like a glass marble along the ice; any hope he had for a normal, human reconciliation rather than a few bleak lines brought to him by a stranger crumbled to ashes. He wanted his father's words, not his money. This man did not inspire his sympathy. The notary appeared to be eating into the matter with the tenacity of acid. He was perfect for the job. The money involved was not of little significance, but his kind took satisfaction in doing everything thoroughly, until he understood and sniffed out the slightest nuances of his case. There wouldn't be a single unsigned paper or anything even the pickiest bureaucrat could find wrong because he was one and knew the system. "It must have been a challenge to locate me."

"Mr Philip Price had been most helpful," the notary dismissed like he had tracked down far more difficult clients in his lifetime. James clenched his teeth. Certainly, Philip would be willing to assist just to attest personally to his demise. "Through Admiralty I have learned that you have been stationed aboard the HMS _Endeavour_. Mr Price offered to find a Captain for _Guardian Lawrence_ to head for her last whereabouts. Afterwards, the circumstances are admittedly mysterious. HMS _Endeavour_ has been destroyed in the battle with the _Black Pearl_. The East Trading Company Armada sent to eliminate the pirate stronghold had lost their flagship and returned without engaging the enemy, attesting that the _Flying Dutchman_ had been involved. Because majority of the documentation had been held by Lord Cutler Beckett, who had been killed, the reassignments of some of the sailors, including you, are unclear. These men are appearing after being marked lost at sea and telling outrageous stories. I have a distinct impression that the Admiralty wants to close the investigation, and keep the rest a secret. Mr Price wanted to accept that you have also been marked as lost at sea, however, I've insisted on following the _Black Pearl_ south. We had to stop to replenish our water supply by this island. Consequently, we're found you, Admiral."

Steels exhausted his explanation, and returned to unblinking stillness; his fingers tightly clenched together on top of the folder as he awaited father questions. He seemed indifferent as to how James came to be on the island. It was not relevant to his mission, and it did not appear that anyone else would be interested. James realised that no one had found out about his betrayal. Davy Jones would not have been forthcoming in details to Beckett why he had killed the marines imposed on his ship during the mutiny. The Chinese pirates and Elizabeth also had no reason to tell anyone about his deed. Thus, he had been marked as killed in mutiny by Beckett, but even that information had failed to reach the Admiralty because he had been marked as lost at sea post the _Black Pearl_ and the _Flying Dutchman_ battle. It was possible to reinstate his position in the Navy as the Admiral, especially if no one wanted to know about the _Flying Dutchman_ or any of his extraordinary adventures. He surely owed no explanation to the notary.

"My father does not change his mind readily," James resumed his line of questioning as he was expected to do. "What prompted him to change the Will?"

"Mr Norrington had received a letter from someone claiming that he knew you. Mr Theodore Groves, more specifically, had provided an additional insight about the scandal concerning the _Dauntless_."

James felt every beat of his quickened pulse drumming against his fingertips - his grip on his wrist getting almost painful. Groves had been assigned to the _Endeavour_, but whenever James was aboard the man was away and scheduled to return after James had been reassigned to the _Flying Dutchman_. Not that James had been keen on meeting face to face with his former first officer.

"I have the letter with me, if you would like to read its content," Steels offered.

James accepted the neatly folded parchment wearily. It was written in spiky letters with a strong slant to the right like the lines were trying to fly forward, betraying the man's adventurous and bold temperament that James still remembered in his lieutenant's reports.

_To Admiral Lawrence Norrington:_

_Sir, I wish I could address this letter to your son, but his whereabouts have been lost. I hope that my message will reach him through you. As the first officer present aboard the Dauntless on that fateful day I feel obligated to shed some light upon the event. After the hurricane, your son had been separated from the crew, and any attempt by us to visit him at the hospital had been intercepted. I believe the nature of the rumours concerning the shipwreck had been hugely exaggerated. It had been important for someone to make your son the guilty party. His fault lies to a far lesser extent, and none of his men have blamed him for it. I want to tell James Norrington that my signature testifying against him in court was hardly voluntary. Not so crudely put, but rather skilfully presented, I've had a visit from his persecutor who had given me a choice either to go into trial and possibly Court Martial as my superior's accomplice or to act as a witness, soon to be promoted. I chose the promotion, yet it was hardly an enviable choice between my friend and my family. I would have chosen my family again, but nonetheless I am begging forgiveness and understanding for doing so. _

_Respectfully,_

_Lieutenant-Commander Groves_

There was too much to consider after reading the letter. James had assumed that none of the crew wanted to see him because they have blamed him. It was liberating to receive forgiveness, although he still didn't fully believe that he had deserved it, and yet this validation had cost his father his remaining health. Lawrence must have heard the first account from Philip who would have painted James' deed in the worst colours without making it appear like he was exaggerating. Lawrence was radical in his methods with a strong preference to justice above mercy. The result of executing a man and then finding out that he was innocent was just as harsh on his conscience, more so when it was his son.

"I assume my father's health had deteriorated after receiving this letter," James said bleakly, just because he had to say something to get to the end of the appointment.

Something akin to a human emotion appeared in the notary's face. "I am sorry to say, yes. I was present on both occasions when he had validated the Will. I have known your father for thirty years, Mr Norrington. Meanwhile, I would not call our relationship a friendship, which would have been difficult to maintain considering our personal circumstance, your father was a highly honourable man. I've never had a cause to find a single fault in his actions. I've even met you once, Mr Norrington, but you do not remember. You were two years old and ignoring my presence because you were playing wit a pink bow, as I recall. This is why I have seen it as a matter of honour to fulfill the Admiral's request when he asked me to locate you."

James remembered it, the bow if not the man. His mother had been a vibrant and lovely woman whose passion was reflected in her love for bows of the most brilliant colours. When she had disappeared from James' life, he had carried one of her favourite bows around, thinking it was his mother. No one could have known about it unless he trully had access to his home.

"Had my father spoken about me at all when he called you to change the Will?" James asked, desperate for any hint that his father wanted to contact him.

"Your father was succinct in explaining his reasons for changing his Will, and per see he was not a man of gossip, especially when inner family dynamics were concerned. He had left his last words in this letter."

It was more of a short note, but James accepted it eagerly. The last message he had from his father was more than two years ago. He looked at the steady writing that in places pressed the ink too hard into the page, rather forcefully just as his father had been.

_To whom this might concern: _

_I, Admiral Lawrence Norrington, amend my Final Will and Testament based on the new knowledge concerning my son's conduct in the tragedy with the Dauntless, and revise my opinion that his actions have degraded our family name. _

_If anyone have shamed us, it was me. I wish I have had the wisdom to value and have more faith in my son more than worry about a smudge on my honour. As I've learned from Mr Groves, I have lost both by turning away my son when he needed my support. I know not where my son is, but as a sign of reconciliation I can leave my ship Guardian Lawrence and half of my fortune to James Norrington, providing he will agree to accept it._

_This letter is entrusted to the notary, Elgar Steels._

_Signed,_

_A. L. Norrington_

James' eyes stopped on the seal that was set in the shape of his father's signing ring, round as a full stop that marked the end of his father's life. Perhaps he had never been close to his father, but Lawrence had not been a bad parent. Where he lacked affection, he made up by watching over James' interests. James had never intended to disappoint him nor bring grief to his door. They have been a family.

The notary cleared his throat, drawing his client's attention. "I only require several of your signatures. Of course, you are allowed to examine the documents prior to signing them."

"I will trust you," said James, only briefly looking over the paragraph that concerned the ship. He was quite indifferent whether everything was written properly or not. He believed there was no reason for the notary to cheat him. "You will receive your payment as the conditions declare," he said, signing the documents quickly where shown.

"I shall leave you," said the notary when the ink dried and he stacked the freshly signed papers into his massive folder.

"Thank you," said James. He extinguished the lantern as the notary left, and the room sunk into darkness. Thoughts, he had too many. He didn't want to see anyone. After the briefest hesitation, James picked up his sword and went for a walk, heading away from the village along the road through the jungle that led to the sea. There was a dim outline and the lights of _Guardian Lawrence_ not far off the shore. In contrast to his raging feelings, the world was still and silent, even the wind falling asleep at night. He breathed in deeply to calm down. Ill tidings found him even on a remote island. He was grieved by his father's passing, of course he was, even when he had accepted the news stoically. He tried to think of something kinder to remember about Lawrence, but peace eluded him.

The stillness was broken by a clumsy shuffling of the sand behind him as someone approached. James didn't bother unsheathing his weapon, confident that no enemy would approach so non-stealthily. He was wrong.

"I've never expected to find you alive," said a voice that James hoped to never hear again. It was unpleasant, like a scratching of a broken quill against the paper, and so much like Philip's habit to write endlessly his vile denounces.

"I've never expected that you would walk the path in the dark from the village to the sea just to spite me because you're too cowardly," James retaliated vindictively. Last time they've spoken he had to bite his tongue to blood, beaten as he had been by law and guilt, but now he was bound by no such restriction, "but there are always ways to get around any unpleasant situation. I suppose Braden is somewhere nearby guarding your back. Why don't you let your lackey join us instead of letting him hide in the bushes?"

"Let me amend that," Philip drawled out the words slowly. He never went for a kill at once. He enjoyed spiting his victims, insulting them, pushing their limits to force them to reveal their weaknesses. "I am sorry to see you alive."

"Of course you are," James retaliated with the same level of civility he had used to speak with the notary. He was determined to keep his composure. "I assume that your mother inherited the other half of my father's fortune, meanwhile you've ensured that you were made a temporary guardian of the ship and the entire property until it was passed onto me, and if I was dead you would inherit it all. You have offered to assist Mr Steels with the investigation and sailed with him because you are connected to the East Trading Company, thus you knew about the destruction of the _Endeavour_ in advance. You wanted to see with your own eyes that I will never come back. But, the investigator turned out to be more persistent than you've anticipated. He had informed me that _Guardian Lawrence_ belongs to me. Speaking of which, I would like to take charge of my property immediately. You may notify the Captain that I will be taking over the running of the ship, starting tomorrow. Please remove your and his possessions from the cabins you are currently occupying." James thought it was safe to do. He had the chance to examine Braden's interaction with the sailors during the day, and he thought that they felt no particular loyalty to him. They were doing their job and would be happy as long as they got paid.

"We will see how long you will keep that ship," said Philip. "The notary may not ask extra questions, but to me it is suspicious and questionable how you have appeared on this island so far from the place where the _Endeavour_ had been destroyed. The Admiralty is baffled by the entire story, and they are trying to close the case, but I'm sure they will be very interested to learn if there were any cases of questionable loyalty occurring. Who knows who might have mutinied against the Company and the Crown in mayhem? You have something to hide, James. I will find out what it is. You will have no peace as long as I'm alive."

James almost snorted, imagining that Philip would have to find the _Flying Dutchman_ first to get the true story from the Captain, and then who would believe him. "Long life you've lived, Philip," he dismissed, "yet you still haven't learned that you cannot get everything you want with threats, lies and bribery."

"Your pride," Philip hissed, insulted to the depths that he would be underestimated. He was not less persistent than the notary in tracking down the information he wanted. "You hold your chin up insolently and act like nobility even when you are in the mud. I hate you for it. But here is the truth - you are still covered by dirt and blood down to your soul. It adds no honour to your character. You will never wash off that shame."

"I feel nothing for you in return," said James. He was growing tired of threats, even if Philip could act not just utter them, it was like drinking a cup of poison each time he spoke with the man, and he hoped to make it his last conversation. "I am not blind. I know you have always envied me. You have always tried to upstage me in school, in front of my peers and father. You have always wanted to own whatever I owned. It was unpleasant, like having a slug near me, but starting a war with you over these matters felt even dirtier. I was too disgusted to retaliate, except perhaps that one time when you've threatened the Swanns. I have briefly considered finding you to get the cufflinks back on principle when I rose to the Admiral, but even that I no longer want because now I have Constance. She waited for me all these years. I know you cannot take from me anything important to me, her love, whereas I am deeply indifferent to losing the rest, having lost everything before. Yes, my hands are stained by blood and dirt, but this is your explanation why I am so indifferent to your existence. We exist in two different worlds. You have always been high up, above the pain and suffering. You cannot even wipe a speck of dirt off your sleeve without the assistance of your lackeys. You were always privileged. You have never been in the middle of carnage because you've always observed it from your high porch. You cannot come close to imagining what it means to walk the line between life and death, honour and disgrace. I've sinned and paid for those sins with my blood. This is why I am your enemy, but you are not mine. A pirate like Jack Sparrow is someone I would consider a worthy adversary. But you mean nothing to me. Absolutely nothing."

He turned sharply, and making a point not to bump Philip with his shoulder, stepped around him, intending to leave.

"You are bragging that you are whoring with a woman you are unwed to," Philip spat. "You have fallen low, and you've brought Constance down with you."

James paused mid-step. His fingers twitched just a little bit, but he forced them to relax. "You have degraded and insulted yourself by making low statements like that about a woman whom I know you still fancy," he said quietly and walked away.

Philip sent a curse after him. He turned on his heel and headed towards the spot where he had left his servant. "Braden, you stupid oaf," he hissed. "Why haven't you killed him?"

An imposing figure appeared front of him, but it was not Braden. An armed Tanga warrior regarded the sea man with disdain. Philip pulled out his pistol. "Out of my way you clumsy, dirty savage," he sneered.

It was beneath Toa Ni's honour to return the insult verbally. "You are having a disagreement with your friend, sea man?" he inquired, sliding a second, unspoken inquiry about the alliance like a trap in between the lines.

"Friend?" Philip spat furiously, too angry to be surprised that the savage could speak. "We were fighting. Are you as stupid as you look that you cannot tell that this man is my enemy?"

Philip never saw the swift move. The warrior thrust his arm forward, not even bothering to dodge the weapon pointed at him. A spear pierced Philip's stomach, tearing his insides like a beast. His pistol fell on the ground without firing a shot. He saw the triumphal eyes of the savage, dark as hell, and heard his last words.

"Enemy of my friend, I claim you as my prey."


	24. Reborn17

**REBORN ch17**

It had to be one of the greatest treasures in the world - a simple contentment. It felt like his insides were tickled by a play of sun beams, vibrant and happy, as his palm slid along the beautiful, finely polished wood of the bridge's railing. His calloused fingertips encountered a few scratches almost invisible to the eye, but these minor imperfections only gave his ship character. They bore the history of the one who had fought hard battles, lost and won, but overall survived and proven the strong will to live. Such was _Guardian Lawrence_. James ran a critical eye over his ship, and then over his fleet. _Fortuna Minor_, guided by Captain Wilson, was prepared to follow his lead. He was looking forward to travelling together and returning safely home with the crew that was ready and waiting for his command.

"Admiral, do we have a heading?" Alfred Carnigan asked the permission to get underway.

James quirked his eyebrow in amusement at the helmsman, "We do indeed," he confirmed their destination. He had charted the course along with the senior officers of both ships the previous evening. "To England, please."

"Aye, Admiral!" the helmsman grinned at him, consulting the compass and turning the helm with an easy hand. He was an open fellow who enjoyed a friendly chat with anyone, including the ship. He tended to give the helm a mild tap and muttered brief exclamations such as 'well done' whenever he was pleased with her sailing performance. James had the chance to learn a good deal about his crew in the two weeks that were necessary for Wilson's men to pack their belongings, and for the ships to pick up a good wind. James was confident that he had gained the trust of these men. All his orders were carried out quickly and efficiently. The men, somewhat guarded at first while they were evaluating him, gave him respect once they realised that he was competent in his field. There was no lingering unease or nervousness whenever James appeared on deck. It was a good feeling to be his own master, not burdened in conscience or by any grave matter that had to be upheld or resolved, and to have the support of those around him.

As _Guardian Lawrence_ gathered speed, James looked at the island where his heart found peace and healing. There was the thin line of the beach where Constance found him and the path to the village, then the smoke from the fires the Tanga lit in a ceremony that wished the sea men a safe voyage. As last, his eyes stopped on the peak of the hill where lay a silent grave.

He sensed that Constance joined him on the bridge, coming to stand beside him, but stealthily so as not to disturb his thoughts. Her hand joined his on the railing, lacing their fingers together. She silently traced his line of sight. She was simply there, by his side, and it was enough to be happy. He was able to experience this moment thanks to the man who had saved his life.

"You know, I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him," James spoke contemplatively. "I was ready to die with the _Dauntless_, but he forced me to join him in the boat and fight for survival. He had given me life while he had lost his."

She understood at once who James was referring to, and sent her silent gratitude to Heaven, struck by how easily she could have lost him. "What was his first name?" she asked, reassuringly stroking James' fingers.

"Alexander," said James, "Alexander Warren."

"Alexander or Alexandra," Constance tried the name, liking the sound of it. "It could make a beautiful name for our son or daughter." A tiny flicker of mischief appeared in her eyes, lost among the brilliance of the day. "Who I certainly hope you will not delay in making," she added in a murmur, her breath tickling his ear.

He chuckled, well aware of the eavesdropping officers, but too content to care. "Do not tease me. I have a very long shift ahead of me."

"I shall behave then and leave you in favour of redecorating our cabin." She made a show pretending to try and leave, but James wrapped his arm around her waist possessively.

"Please stay. I want everyone to know that you are my fiancée, in case anyone still has doubts." They have asked Captain Wilson to act witness to their engagement a week ago, which naturally meant that everyone knew by morning about it, and they certainly didn't get away with a small and inconspicuous ceremony. Their betrothal had gifts and a lovely social evening, although regrettably no rings, something James was confident he would remedy once they were in England where he would have access to the best goldsmiths. They didn't ask Wilson to use the privileges of his rank to perform a betrothal because they hoped that Constance's parents were still alive, and James desperately wanted to earn their approval. He was happy to shout the confirmation from the bridge and tops of the masts, however, that Constance was his fiancée.

"I believe that would be a wise course of action," she approved, wondering if she might steal a kiss on his cheek.

"So is your choice of our future child's name," James confirmed seriously, although the smile continued to linger on his lips. He was deeply touched by her consideration. "He or she will inherit it from a brave man."

"That bravery must had been brought out in him by following his senior officer," she commented gently. She had a chance to observe how James interacted with the new crew. They wanted to follow his lead, and were starting to model their behaviour after him. She suspected that Warren might have hero worshiped his commander.

James had the grace to blush and look away dismally. He regarded the waves and the far horizon that were stretching ahead of the ship whispering about freedom. Her hand slipped into his once more, through a reassuring squeeze binding them with a silent promise. He responded by pressing a kiss on her cheek.

In the glow of a wonderful morning when his heart soared, he knew - it was time to bury the past and look ahead to the future.


End file.
